Reasons to be Maungy, Part 3.

For those who haven't come across the word before, "maungy" is West Yorkshire dialect for depressed and bad tempered.

After a rather bad day, I started writing my own lyrics to Ian Dury's "Reasons to be Cheerful, Part 3".

Dirty, greasy dishes,
Rooms that smell of fishes,
Never get my wishes
It seems.

Floors in need of mopping,
Food in need of shopping,
A lifestyle that keeps dropping
My dreams.

My blogs don't earn money,
My jokes aren't funny,
And now the crummy cat's
Got fleas.

Rotten old translation
might as well be Croatian,
I wanna vacation
Please!

Reasons to be maungy, Part 3.
Reasons to be maungy, Part 1, 2, 3.

Cooking Cabage: Part 2

(see previous post for part 1)

As I watched the pearl hatch, my imagination went wild. Clearly this was no ordinary egg, and it wasn't likely to hatch an ordinary bird or reptile. Perhaps I was about to see a dragon or a fairy. Maybe even a demon or an angel. This might be even better than a pearl.

The edges of the crack reached around the pearl and joined. The two halves fell down. And there stood a tiny penguin.

Well, I say a penguin. Certainly it was penguin-shaped, But instead of the usual black and white marking like a tuxedo, this one wore a Hawaiian shirt, mostly electric blue and fuchsia.

I stared, with my mouth open.

The penguin put the tip of his wing to his beak and wiggled it at me while he blew a long, loud raspberry.

Then he flew out of the window. That's right. He flew.

And I didn't even have time to grab my camera. Just my luck.

Cooking Cabbage: Part 1

Sometimes I enjoy cooking, but this wasn't one of those times. I was chopping up a cabbage for lunch. (I fry cabbage with a little bit of bacon and garlic - very good) And I was bored, bored, bored.

The knife hit something hard. There, in the very centre of the cabbage, gleamed a massive pearl, almost the size of a sprout.

I stared, entranced. It must be worth millions! I pictured myself lying on a coral-pink beach in the Bahamas, while a fit, young waiter, wearing very little, brought me cocktails. No washing up, no laundry, no cooking.

But the pearl began to crack, like an eggshell.

To be continued... (probably)

Fetching pizza

There I was, waiting for my take-away pizza in the local bar when George Clooney walked in, looking far sexier in real life than he does on screen. His Spanish was pretty limited, so I helped him with his order, and we got chatting. He was staying at the Parador for a few days' break, because he'd been told that La Palma was the most beautiful of the Canary Islands.

So I recommended the Roque and Cumbrecita and El Tablado. And he offered me 100€ to be his tour guide for a day.

WOW!

Of course I agreed. Stuff translating.

So the limo will pick me up at 10 am tomorrow.

Kidnapped by Aliens

The aliens kidnapped me while I was unloading knickers from the washing machine.

The big window snapped wide open, and I felt the gentlest tug as I was lifted off my feet. I floated up to their space ship, which looked like a flying teacup. Presumably the saucer was off elsewhere. A door opened in the base, and I was sucked inside.

The interior was all squidgy pink. Little girl pink at that. I'd have loved it when I was seven. Now it made me come over all feminist.

The outside door shut. An inside door opened, and a stalk of electric-blue celery walked in and threw some pink powder at me.

Then I woke up lying on the floor in front of the utility room, on a pile of wet knickers.

And now I'm so traumatised that I can't bear to go anywhere near the washing machine.

So you'll have to do the laundry, darling.