Maria

Dear hearts,

Much as it pains me to display anything approaching fickleness in one's affectations, I cannot deny, nor not confess, that one is seeing something of a sea change of late, in one's political afflictions.

What has prompted this ?

 I'll explain. It lies in the shapely form of the double breasted, truth talker in-chief, Nigel Farage.

I must express a little disquiet in the non Britishness of his name, but no matter, the man's sheer down to earthedness in expression and intent, has propelled me to near swooning on more than one occasion.

Indeed, I have gone so far as to reach for the mini fan; in a way I had not experienced since the launch of sex obsessed, equality idiots, Channel Four- and when I went through the change.

And I'll tell you for why.

It is in Nigel's fearlessness that my admiration resides. He is simply saying what every single right minded, BRITISH PERSON believes and his manly grasp of the yardstick that is European bullying, makes one emit a prolonged sigh of delight.

Will we sit back and watch as our pounds and ounces become kilos and... whatever the smaller weights are. Or sit back as our beloved pounds and pence are EUROTRASHED?

NO WE WILL NOT.

What would Winston Churchill say? He would say nothing, he would simply stick up two fingers to Fritz and Jean Claude, AND SO MUST WE.

I took my trusted tape recorder out and about and found a young person of similar frustration, loitering on my very own doorstep in the worryingly tattooed form, of scantily clad, mobility hairdresser, Maria.

A friend had recommended her but I must confess that I had my doubts.

However, as she showed me her over-inflated pricelist, and discussed my requirements, I mused with her as to her own thoughts and political leanings.

She rambled at length as trades-people tend to do, but I managed to prize victory from the jaws of bored defeat when it became clear that she shared my common sense on the charmer Farage.

It appears that straight talking can indeed build a bridge between the classes and as she spoke with admittedly little charm and lots of dropped aitches, I began to warm slightly.

She too recognizes the sense at the heart of Nigel's words and that the blustering beetroot is indeed a beacon of plain speaking.  A man of, for and by the people. There was some attempt to wrong foot the dear man by Irishly named James O'Brien, on LBC Radio however Nigel is both a silver and a clever fox and so he nimbly and ably side stepped this nonsense with ease.

"WRONG WRONG WRONG" cries Farage to the Irish taunter attempting to trick him.
The genius response required was forthcoming and hit the spot. Huzzah I thought, as I listened Huzzah sir.

As the young people say that broadcaster was porned.

Anyway here for your listening delight is the interview with Maria. As ever I warn you that she is a regional person by birth but do try and get past this.

INTERVIEW WITH MARIA

Am I simply a skilled and gifted genius of an interviewer? Well it's not really for me to say but if pushed, I'd have to say, well yes.

Stay vigilant dears,

Your Friend Mrs M. xxx

Brenda

As furtherance to my series on the great unwashed, let me introduce you to this anonymous strumpet, who I make no judgement on, except to note that Babylon is missing a whore (tinkly laugh face)

I jest dears.

Dear Brenda is simply another razor clawed, man trap and this is not her fault.

She talks at length in her regional accent, detailing her associations with a married person, HERE

A married person I might add, for whom she works.

And this is the nob of the problem.

Germaine Greer Garson may have bandied about flaming bras in the 70’s, whilst fumigating to whomsoever may be forced to listen, that ladies should abandon their husbands and WORK but this is the evil within.

And I’ll tell you for why.

She’s turned the workplace into the bedroom. This is what feminism does, it makes married men have sex with stenographers.

Well-done Germaine WELL DONE INDEED.

One didn’t work dears. One was too busy collecting Green Shield Stamps, to have time for collecting notches on one’s bedpost. 
Now one can only look on and sigh that one’s own family values are being flouted.

Cannot one.

And one doesn’t like it at all.

As I let the whole sorry shame unfold from Brenda's overly lipsticked mouth, I ruminated on her predicament. Her career future, I decided, was as flat as her vowels.

As ever I realised that this like many other facts of life are to be found betwixt the pages of my encyclopedia for life. My bedroom companion which nestles on the night stand next to the teasmaid, simply waiting for me to search it’s pages for another signpost for life.

One is referring of course to one's Bible.

Our own Lord never married. Neither did he have the daily commute, clutching a frappacino but sure enough there he was. In the workplace having a brainstorming session with all the other men disciples.

When, what does he discover, but the slippery/slappery sensation of Mary Magdalene washing his toes. Unbidden, but determined.

Glancing from the last supper table, he notices his flip-flops have been removed and female wiles are being generously applied. 

Not by a qualified biblical podiatrist, but by a Lady of the Night.

Now, one wonders, if this were any other man would he have given in? Would he have ignored his destiny? Would he have fallen prey to this foot fondling loosey Lucy? 

Who knows what may then have occurred between exfoliation and crucifixion.

But it certainly explains the degree of breast beating he deployed in The Garden of Gethsemane.

Doesn’t. 
It.

She was a cunning fox that Mary and I disagree with the words in the lovely ballad penned by Lord Andrew Lloyd Fauntleroy in his “Jesus Christ Superstar”

I think you’ll find Mary, you DID know how to love him.

A woman in the workplace is asking for trouble. Push up bras this and minutes taken that. If women would REFRAIN from trying to be men then the sanctity of home and hearth would be restored.

Point made.

Anyway aside from music penning Lords and shrieking feminists, the real truth of my carefully yet beautifully written post here, is this.

Listen, learn and be WARNED. Men have their below belt urges but ladies must not kneel to do it.

Which is to say DON'T yield men. Summon courage and turn away from the wanton flesh in our towns, villages, cities and seaside resorts.

Anyway enjoy. 

The misfortunes of others, driven by lust, ambition and front bottom urgings are at least instructional.

Your Friend, Mrs M x

(Find me @mrsmountable for more inspirational writings)