An unnamed homophobic car dealership on the mainland has angered the gay community by thinking they had the right to take offence in…wait for it – a gay venue. The owner of Proud stroked them a cracker by cancelling their Christmas booking and taking the financial hit. As appeasers of bigots (yes, I am cringing too) – OFMDFM should fly to London immediately to convince the dealer to set up shop over here. They’ll fit right in.
This gorgeous babe has riled obese public transport users. The MP for Guildford was sitting beside a fat man on a train and went on Twitter to ridicule and complain about his ass taking up a bit of her seat. She suggested a ban on fat people using seats on trains. She wouldn’t last the crack in a black taxi. (geddit….ok I’ll get my coat)
Anyway – I’d rather have a fat hole than a bake like thon.
Went to watch The Holy Holy Bus on Friday night up in the Roddies. If you know me, you’ll know my parents and their good friend Margaret put their hearts and souls into organising the plays up in the club. I wasn’t that fussed on going as I thought it would be a play about a load of grannies rattling beads and scoffing corn beef sandwiches on the bus to Knock. As usual I was wrong. The play was brilliant, really funny. The cast and crew did a fantastic job. But the lack of theatre etiquette in the audience pissed me off. See if you have your phone on during a play – you’re nothing but a dickhead and should be ejected from the building with no refund. Twats.
I took the wee lady to the Frozen Singalong on Saturday. She didn’t really want to go, I’ve been bursting to see it and the five times she went with her mates – I wasn’t invited, funny enough. Anyway, my mood for singing came to an abrupt end as some part time Da sat to my right and was on Facebook the whole time he was there. What is it with people who have no public manners? The glare of his mobile lit the cinema up and he was too engrossed in counting Likes for tagging himself being Daddy of the year and was oblivious to his surroundings. Thankfully he left halfway through, still staring at his phone with his wee daughter tagging along feeling lonely.
I’m not normally one for seasonal decorations and shake my head like the Grinch when passing houses lit up like Blackpool. But this year, I pushed the boat out and bought two more sets of lights.
Alone for five hours I satisfied by need for order and sorted my baubles in batches of colour, and then placed them on the tree in order of size. It only fell down and broke in half once. My living room resembled the ball pit in Funky Monkeys. There were a lot of bad words screamed for a good half an hour until it was weighed down and secure.
As long as nobody touches it, they will leave my house alive. I’m not a freak – from carrying out research it turns out all women have a bit of festive OCD and turn into party season psycho’s if someone touches their balls.