Tuesday, 10 September 2013


If people will try to find out where my achilles heel is,  I will go to where I know they have theirs. Most people wear their achilles heel on their sleeve, treating it as a badge of honour. I find being a victim is a crashing bore.
Last week I forgot to put on facebook my eternal gratitude to a childish diva. I had thanked them one hundred times. I will say wonderful things about them, when they do wonderful things. I am ready when they are. I am not naming names,  if the cap fits, wear it, it rings true even today. It cost me several hundreds of pounds to find out why nobody else wanted them.
Who wants to know about peoples dreary side of their lives? Thank goodness for callers display on the telephone, so I can put off  slippery victims.
If you are not going to be beautiful, wanted, sexy or fashionable, I suppose spiritual and prudence is all that is left over?.
If people have led a spiteful life, you notice they suddenly want to sit under the Bodi Tree and become spiritual. How dare these avaricious losers try to criticise others?
 I will deal with my faux pas when I meet my maker.
I find many people want help, but then they are so tricky when you give it to them?.
I like to live life to the full. I am not religious, but I like going to church and lighting candles, the ritual, the singing, the community.
To be more spiritual does not mean that you can't eat lamb chops. It does however mean that you could be grateful when people are nice to you, especially when another human being is paying for you, and is trying to help you, when they do not need to.
Spiritual is knowing who you are, it does not mean that you need to be like some over bearing social worker.  It does not give you free reign to tell everybody how ghastly they are.
The lamb chop is not  the passport to the hot place.
I cannot be accused of being ponce, or of not being generous, however I am constantly accused of not giving enough money, but only when I stop paying.  All the time I did pay them they did not give a shit but when I clasped my purse to my bosom, the screams were heard for miles away. It's my purse and their fingers that were hurting.
In the meantime I could kill for some mint sauce.
With thanks to.

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