Only in England?

Only in England can the weather be so horrendous that it is painfully funny. 'Standing out in the cold in your vest top when only 3 seconds ago it was blistering hot and now your nipples feel a bit frost-bitten' type of painfully funny. This country calls for industrial-strength bra-paddings. Not because you might need the extra boost, but you might need the extra protection for your pairs of raisins. The extra boost will not hurt either. My breasts fascinate me immensely. Sometimes they look sad, sometimes they look excited, sometimes they look like a teenager: Can't be bothered either way.

Only last week I was at a funeral of a wonderful, elderly woman who had touched my life during the short time I knew her. We looked up at the skies and it parted, letting in the Sun shine through and we smiled. Then we got pelted suddenly with hail. Was it a sign, someone asked. Yes, it is sign that there is some bit of frost in the clouds and the fuckers just scratched my sunnies. Is it too much to ask for to want to turn up looking like a presentable woman, ala Audrey Hepburn, instead of like that skank over there with her bloody fishnets and *le gasputin* OPEN-TOED SANDALS? Tsk tsk tsk.

Every morning, walking Stevie would result in a stupid debate over whether to just brave it and put a jumper on or layer up and end up looking like the fucking Michellin man. Do I need my Snood? What about my gloves? Ooh shit, my hat. Just to walk the fucking dog around the block. I would go out all layered up, walk down the path and suddenly it is fucking blistering hot. There I stood looking like a fucking twat. I'd be holding my coat and scarf in one hand and bags of steaming shit and the lead in another. Hopefully no other dogs start crossing paths with Little Shit or bags of steaming shit would go all over the fucking place. Then suddenly a cloud will pass and then BAM! You are in fucking Siberia. Goosebumps, frozen nipples, snotty nose, excited puppy.

I wonder... What to the first English people make of the world when they buggered out of this country for a short holiday and end up in Egypt in their bloomers and petticoats? I saw a documentary of Queen Victoria's visit to Egypt and there was a picture of her sat on a camel with her massive dress and hat on in the blistering heat.

I looked at the screen and suddenly broke into a giggle fit. Poor soul must have shat her bloomers, thinking she must be nearing the bowels of hell.