the isle of kevin

Once upon a time, people lived in houses with thatched roofs.
the straw was thick, and piled high, with no wood underneath.
It was the only place for animals to get warm, so all the cats and other small animals (mice, bugs) lived in the roof space.
When it rained, it became slippery and sometimes the animals would slip and fall off the roof.
Hence the saying - it's raining cats and dogs.

And there was nothing to stop things from falling into the house..
This posed a real problem in the bedroom where bugs and other critters - like cows? - could mess up your nice clean bed.
So some bright spark hit on the idea of having a quiet night's sleep by making a bed with big posts and a sheet hung over the top.
That's how canopy beds came into existence.

None of these advances have helped me much, I have to say.
I am regularly disturbed at bed time by doris jumping on me from the top of the wardrobe.

(as you may have noticed, this was the third of our history lessons, which is why i put a number three in the title.)
you can find the previous two historic posts by clicking on the history tag (which is hiding behind the 'more tags' tab at the top of this historic blog.)

clever, eh?

most people who sunbathe shouldn't.

i did a beer belly count this morning as part of my island tour.
there were so many white hairy mounds it looked like the whole beach had got goosebumps.

one or two seagulls were fooled.
a couple of them landed on one chap's barrel of flab and immediately made themselves at home.

i think lady gull is laying eggs as we speak.
so he's had it for the next few weeks. 
he's not going anywhere - i'll have a nature conservation order notice stuck in his sandcastle before the morning is out.

Strangely enough, history lesson 1 was the first in the series.
history lesson 2 is the second of our journeys into the past.

In olden times, baths consisted of a big tub filled with hot water.
The man of the house had the privilege of the nice clean water, then all the other sons and men, then the women and finally the children.
Last of all the babies. By then the water was so dirty you could actually lose someone in it.
Hence the saying, Don't throw the baby out with the bath water..

We've moved on a bit since then.
Doris gets in first - and the water gets out.

cameron's gone off for his evening class in handsomeness cos he wants to win over female voters.
he failed to win doris over, though.
she told him he looked like someone had sat on his head, and had permanent wind.
he gave her a winning smile.
she hit him.
hence the extra handsome sessions at the eton politician grooming parlour tonight.

but, enough of him.
we have a very special guest tonight.
want to meet him?
ok, here he is ...

he's called kev, from the planet kev, in the constellation hobknob.
i'm keeping doris in her room tonight because he's a bit sensitive about his appearance.
and a bit jetlagged.
well, you can tell that by looking at him, can't you, poor sod.
i'm told his head is that shape because he accidentally swallowed a hand grenade.

he wants to explore the possibility of establishing a twinning agreement with the isle of kevin, and will no doubt invite me to pay a return visit.
however, i doubt his anti-gravity three wheeler will have enough juice to get off the ground if doris comes, too.

we're having flying fish on a saucer, followed by alien delight (that's angel delight tinted with cucumber relish).

cameron will be so jealous. i bet he wishes he was this handsome.

life's never dull, is it?

that fresh-faced youth, and would-be head boy, david cameron, came to call again today.
he obviously wants to be seen mixing with the right people.
though his face fell when i descended the stairs in my empire-line black shorts with nice neat creases down the front, which i had teamed with my black socks, open toed sandals, and a plastic mac.

i invited him to accompany me to the newsagent as i wanted to treat doris to a bag of mis-shapes.
so he lurched along beside me, making conversation about global warming, fuel prices, and said would i mind if he left his helicopter running in case gordon the brown called a general election.

anyway, i bought him a gobstopper to shut him up.
it didn't work.
he just smiled even more broadly and talked through his arse.

that boy should go far.

preferably now.

another in the series of random facts about me...

i once owned a mini van that broke down so often, the AA switchboard recognised my voice.

i almost died young, when i drank a load of vodkas on a school trip to austria, and stood on the wall of a narrow bridge over a ravine, thinking i could dive in to the river far below.  well, it was new year's eve. 

i was very shy and used to rehearse what i would say to the shopkeeper once i reached the village shop - 'one pint of milk, four bread rolls, and a packet of digestive biscuits please';  'one pint of milk, four bread rolls...'  now i've matured, i just hand over a note and pick my nails.

i once went through an entire cricket season without scoring a run or taking a wicket.  my only significant contribution was making one catch.  but it was rather a good one.

yes, it's the latest edition of my popular compendium of HOW TO do just about everything.
this one is sponsored by MAGIC CREAMS - they make an exclusive range of sun cream that you actually eat.  so if your grandparents suddenly get intimate on the sunlounger, don't worry - they're just having a tasty snack!  try it for yourself.  just lie down on the sand, spread some MAGIC CREAM on your body, and wait ...  but be careful where you put it!  please note that licking MAGIC CREAM off a stranger is no subsitute for a healthy diet and lifestyle.  well, ok, yes it is, but we have to say that.

and now - the edition you have all been waiting for... HOW TO ... SURVIVE THE SUMMER ...

1. make yourself some ear muffs out of cocktail sticks and marshmallows - you'll never hear crap music from a car radio again
2. can't afford sunglasses? make your own!  simply smash a bottle of becks, pick out a couple of decent sized pieces, steal some blue tak from any nearby office cupboard and fix one piece over each eye
3. avoid sunburn by only sunbathing at night
4. don't suffer in the heat - rig up an extension lead and put the fridge on the patio and leave the door open (this useful tip also means you don't have to go indoors for a piece of cheese)
5. give yourself a glowing tan without risking skin cancers - see if you can get work experience at a car spray workshop and wait until they choose the colour brown, then strip off and dance around.  everyone will soon be admiring your boot and bonnet.
6. can't afford stylish summer wear? make your own! tear the sleeves off a couple of shirts - you'll find plenty hanging out to dry in the sun in your neighbour's gardens. 

enjoy your summer!

and here's another exclamation mark, just for you

!

in the old days, people would get married in june.
that's because they took an annual bath in may, so they'd still smell half decent.
even so, brides did pong a bit, so they carried a bouquet of flowers to hide the body odour.

hence, the tradition of the bride carrying a bouquet of flowers.

footnote - when i married doris, i wore a nose peg.

exclusive extracts from my royal diaries for the last week ...

 MONDAY - i awoke feeling a little dicky, but pressed on regardless.  doris had terminal halitosis and had to be rushed to the hospital for an overdose of pickled onion and manure.  it helped enormously.

 TUESDAY - emergency planning of cabinet to prepare for the half term invasion.  we agreed with me that fuel prices were not high enough, so i ordered kev and kev's petrol kabin to put their prices up for a couple of weeks and blame iraq.  we're also beginning a programme of road works on most scenic routes, just to make life difficult for everyone.  and i'm declaring a discount on ice cream so there's none left when the little blighters get here.

 THURSDAY - Wednesday was nothing to write home about (i felt limp and reclined on the chaise longue all day while doris spoonfed me with mushy peas).  But today is good.  that nice young chap david camerooon is coming for tea, so it's out with the cracked china and thinly sliced bread - well, that's what he'll be having.  doris is baking me a nice steak pudding.  hopefully, david will reveal where he went for his handsome lessons.  it was obviously a better training ground than the one gordon the brown attended.

 BANK HOLIDAY MONDAY - chaos on the roads, i'm glad to say.  lots of heartbroken holidaymakers marooned in their chalets while my island firemen kept up a constant spray of water over every holiday camp to convince them it was raining heavily.  then it was in with the jehovahs witnesses, closely followed by my exclusive offer of discounted ferry tickets on condition they left today.  it worked!  by lunchtime the island was mine, and the sun came out.  i must remember to let the ferries land on the other side a bit later on.  don't want their journey home delayed too long, do we?

is it just me or are portions getting bigger?

i graced the local with my presence yesterday and rather fancied gammon, egg and chips.

it turned out that there was no room on the giant plate for anything except the huge slab of gammon, topped with a nice runny fried egg (sorry, all you vegetarians).
so the chips arrived by special delivery - courtesy of a uniformed lady the size of Mister T from the A Team, but she had bigger biceps.
she plonked a vat of fat french fries on my table and said she'd be back with the vegetables.

this turned out to be a tureen full of broccoli, cauliflower and carrots.

don't ask me why. i only eat here.

i'm ashamed to say i couldn't eat it all, and i was brought up to believe it is bad manners not to clear your plate.

my companion laughed as she ordered a sandwich.  but that turned out to be a whole tin of tuna between two loaves, with a field of salad and a jumbo bag of crisps chucked on top.

anyone know why they do this?  is it to justify high prices?

or am i just a wimp who can't take his food?

anyway - i'm eating in today.  i'll see if doris has got her macaroons out yet.

i stood there in my underpants as he sized me up.
he was clearly impressed.
he told me to bend over.
i said i already was.

he suggested that in that case i may need several more appointments.

so i lay on the bed while he realigned my pelvis.

i was a bit confused because i thought he said did i mind elvis.

anyway, dave is doing a grand job.

i only realised how well he was doing when i walked out into the street and realised my head was facing the wrong way.

still - i'm sure he'll fix that next week.

onward!

 luculian - lavish, luxurious... named after a roman general of similar name, famous for his sumptuous banquets (i understand that kentucky fried chicken modelled their restaurants on him, too)

shelf upon shelf of tins and packets in smart black packaging.  everything you could possibly dream of ... gourmet baked beans in a box, not a tin;  jet black puddings made from the best bits; angel gabriel delight; and, of course, jammiest dodgers.

well, i thought it only right and proper that a world leader should have the best, so i gave kev the chauffeur ten lashes and urged him on to the luxury aisle.  it was a bit harder for him to push, on account of the red carpet up the middle, but he rather enjoyed the personal welcome by the manageress, and the round of applause from the beaming staff as we sauntered through.

but it was nothing compared to their laughter as they rang up the bill at the executive check-out, and handed me the receipt in a leatherette wallet.  though i must admit the shock was offset by the free mint imperial they gave me.

they say you get what you pay for.

and having spat out my black pudding and baked bean breakfast, they're certainly going to pay for it.

luxury food! 

huh! i won't get fooled again.

tell the truth.
that's what doris said as she confronted me by the pedal bin this morning.
she wanted to know whether i was going off her.

i said i couldn't remember the last time i'd been on her.
she said it was below the belt.
so i looked.
and it was.
but i didn't see what that had to do with anything.
she agreed with me.

i suddenly felt we had lost the art of communication.

so i kissed her on the hot plate, and said i would tell her everything.

it went something like this - i have to write this down because the side of my face is swollen...

 doris darling.  you have a face like a baboon after a failed cosmetic surgery operation conducted by a fork lift truck driver.  you eat far too much, and i was going to ask where you put it all, but it is becoming very clear.  if i need exercise, i just go for a walk round you. when we're lying in bed and you do your heavy breathing exercises, i feel like i'm freefalling between the himalayan peaks.  you have halitosis, body odour, you don't shave your beard often enough ... you've let yourself go, my sweet but, no-one's perfect, and you don't sweat much for a fat lass. so give us a kiss and come to bed.

doris shreiked and fell upon the dog.  she missed, and landed on me, squashing the baguette i was saving for later.

the doctor says he can fix the baguette, but i won't be able to use my mouth for a while.
so he ate it while he stitched up the bite wound on my face.

you want to know the truth?

doris is just trouble and i am losing patience with her.
i really am.

i have just noticed that my worldwide fame now extends to puerto rico.
one person in puerto rico visited my blog island today.

now i don't know who you are, but i have to ask whether or not you have a visa?

i can allow you to keep visiting only if you:

• give me lots of money in return for a visa
• are called kevin and therefore qualify for residency, or
• you say nice things about me.

i woke up with a jerk today.
how gordon brown sneaked into my bedroom last night, i will never know.
i vaguely remember a tap on the door, but i got the plumber to fix that.
anyway, i soon got shut of him by threatening to wake doris - though she was snoring so much i doubt i could have shouted loudly enough to disturb her.
gordon grabbed his pink pyjamas and his tony blair teddy, and ran off.

i brandished my morning chipolata at him as he drove away, then got down to planning my day.
i'd got as far as deciding to wear my royal underpants (when people see me in them, they always call me 'your royal highness'), when there was a crash like a mountain of boulders falling down a slope of sheet steel - doris had tripped on her negligee and was now in a large heap at the foot of the stairs.

so - all sunday plans out of the window.
we went to hospital.
she refused all treatment and limped off to the hospital cafe instead, elbowing medical staff to one side as she caught a whiff of today's special - pork hernia with broken legs and sliced fingers.

back home at last, after a trying day, i was determined to make the most of what is left of my sunday.
then doris did some heavy breathing down the intercom from her bathroom and invited me to wash her back.

i've just finished loading the wheelbarrow with a yard brush, a bottle of car shampoo and wax, and a window scraper.

well - she asked for it ...

the palace has been eerily quiet today.
the only sound was my brain whirring, as i whizzed through a series of tasks that would have challenged a gladiators contender.
i built myself the ultimate shed - before breakfast.
it has a flat screen tv, a mini-bar, a hammock, and of course a workbench (well, i need to somewhere to put my work before i sit down).

after twenty press-ups (it was only on the count of six that i noticed my next door neighbour looking up at me quizzically), i hosed myself down by lying on the lawn and using my sprinkler, drank a pint of orange juice freshly squeezed between my buttock muscles, then set about task number two - building the ultimate sofa.

it is a three seater - two seats for doris, and one for me.  it has push button controls. press button A and a crumb catcher appears on doris's side (she likes whole food - whole cakes, whole loaves, whole packets of biscuits).  button b sends a soundproof screen up from between the cushions, separating me from the sound of her panting as she watches ER (it stands for ernie rowbottom, and is a very popular programme on the island).  press button c, and a phone rings in the farthest reaches of the palace - this will send her scurrying off, thus giving me five minutes peace).

but look at the time - it's four o'clock and not a sausage pricked.

i must get on!

bye.

i've got so much to give today.
but i don't know who to give it to.

doris has gone shopping - there's a sale at MFI, which i find very unusual.
and she heard that knickers were down at kwiksave.

if there was a sale at the old jokes shop, i'd be there like a shot.
i'd quite like to buy that one about the man who goes to the doctor and says he keeps thinking he's a pair of curtains - then the doctor says 'well, pull yourself together'.

but i couldn't get to the shop, even if there was one.
kev the chauffeur has got the day off.  he's gone whippet fancying, and the more i think about it, the less i like the idea.

so here i am - bursting.
i need an outlet for my energy and general high spirits.

but what should i do?

i'll let you know what i got up to - later ...

guess who's coming to dinner tonight?

these two ...

yes, it's true. they are very close. in fact, i do believe they want to share a room.
in which case, they can have the downstairs toilet - i'm not having them mucking about on my best lino.

hilary phoned this morning, wondering how many bags to bring with her.
i told her she could bring cherie blair if she wanted.
osama said he might be late on account of he was checking his primaries.
i told him he could do what he liked behind closed doors.

the entertainment this evening is being provided by the island fit club, who will be giving a demonstration of nude kung fu.
this will be followed by doris and flossie's disco diva routine, in which they gyrate round a broom handle to the tune of 'my old man's a dustman'.
and finally, kev the chauffeur will arrive in the royal reliant robin with a consignment of 'old mans pies' from kev's cafe - so called because they are very crusty.

then i suppose we'll have to leave the two lovebirds alone for the night in their four poster water bed.  this is actually in kit form - four posts with a tarpaulin and a bucket of water - so they can make their own.

and just in case they don't make sweet music together, i've briefed the local brass band to play a few marching tunes at about four am.
that should perk them up a bit.

some people will go to any lengths for a scoff of something.

i've seen grown women - very grown, actually - scrabbling in the fluff at the bottom of their jumbo handbags and emerging triumphant, clutching a bon bon, as if they'd just won olympic gold.

the care and precision people take at the baker's at lunchtime, too.  shall i have the chocolate eclair with my reduced fat cottage cheese sandwich?  or the victoria sponge?  oh, but don't those apple turnovers look lovely?

and i'm sure i know someone who holds the world record for the number of recipe books jammed into one kitchen.
there's hardly room to scramble an egg in there.
they're piled on shelves, in cupboards, balanced on worktops, propped up on special recipe book holders.
i'm sure i sat on nigella last time i was there - much better than sitting on james martin, i suppose.

what is it about us and food - can anyone tell me?
why has it become a national obsession?

(i really do want to know, because i'm just as bad!)

makes you sick.
our silly day (see previous post) has been marred by protest marches by people who call themselves sensible.

they've been parading up and down outside my palace, dressed in sensible shoes and anoraks, making chants which are audible without being too noisy, and holding up banners saying things like 'this is a peaceful protest if that's all right with you'.

after a couple of hours of this, i'd had enough.

so i put on my pink sequinned leotard, my black top hat, grabbed my regalia, and marched out to confront them.

i could see one or two of the less sensible people wanted to grab me by the main gates and smother me with kisses.
but the majority, as predicted, just couldn't bear this silly behaviour and went off in a huff (which i believe is manufactured by rover cars).

i was just turning round, full of manly pride, when scunthorpe hilton came pedalling up the hill pleading for asylum.
doris is going to be jealous, but i offered to put her up for the night, as long as she promised to do lots of silly things.

i think i might skip the concert tonight...

today is silly day, here on the isle of kevin.

that is all i have to say.

i've been wearing them all day - a suit and proper shirt and tie, that is.
i've been stuck in meetings and when i wasn't stifling a yawn at management speak, i was staring at a computer screen from the discomfort of a crappy office chair with one of those back support things that pushes you forward.

knickers.

and it was so hot, and the fans weren't on and the tea was too milky and the cheese sandwiches were all curled up like used matches.

knickers.

and when i got home, doris was complaining about the heat and walking around in her ....
knickers.

she said the hot weather made her sap rise.
i misheard her - thought she said it made her crap twice.
she hit me.

knickers.

what a day.

hope yours was better?

as i write this, cherie and tonie are rowing their bathtub across to the isle of britain.
apparently, they want an early night.
why, i don't know.
it's not as if they've got much to do now, is it?
anyway, they enjoyed the island tour i arranged.
kev the chauffeur strapped them on the back of our customised milk float - standing up, of course.
i had to warn kev about driving too slowly round the bends on the cliff road - i thought they'd appreciate some excitement...the sort they can fill up their memoirs with.  after that, he drove like a looney, and i could her them screaming with obvious terror as we did 110 round a hairpin.
back at the palace, doris laid on a lovely spread.
this was annoying because it looked rather nice before she decided to have a nap on the table.
still, she did warm up the pies somewhat.

cherie choked on a chipolata and tonie looked embarrassed.
i patted her back a little too vigorously and her dentures shot out, immediately attaching themselves to gordon the brown's throat.
rather symbolic, i thought.

and now - peace at last.
doris is watching repeats of gladiators.
kev the chauffeur is tuning up the milk float.

and i am catching up with my important papers.
the sun, for one.

ta ta

i've got visitors tonight.
these two ...

yes, cherie and tonie.
they were a bit late because cherie had just reached the finals of the isle of britain gurning competition.
she was pipped at the post by a woman who could pull her bottom lip right over her face, and still sing jerusalem while drinking a glass of water.
tonie was beaten in the most virile ex prime minister contest by john major.
so they were in a fine mood, as you can imagine.
though as my little snapshot shows - at least tonie managed to smile while not looking at the camera.
though this was because doris had just mooned at him from the passenger window of her royal vauxhall astra.

as we chatted over the potato hash vol au vents, tonie confirmed rumours that he was now advising gordon the brown on how to win the next general election.
apparently the strategy is that gordon will resign to make way for alastair darling, who will lose the next general election.
gordon will not be responsible for the defeat.
and the opposite of losing is winning.
therefore, gordon will win.

clever, eh?

still, we'll see how clever he is over a game of shove ha'penny after i've plied him with a few beers.

if i pick up any more nuggets of information, i'll be sure to pass them on.

night night.

the bags under doris's eyes this morning were big enough and dark enough to hold a few pounds of nutty slack (that's coal, for the uninitiated).
her hair stuck out so far she looked like an exploded football.
from the little i could see of them, her eyes were the sort of red colour you see in bad horror movies.
and the groans as she forced down a pan of scrambled egg were enough to clear the palace of mice.

yes, by all accounts, it was a good night.

flossie, loretta, mavis ... even rose turned up.
they greeted each other with air kisses, but they must have been wearing a lot of lipstick because you can still see the lurid spatters of it on the woodchip wallpaper.
i shouted my hellos nervously from the top of the stairs, then ran into my chambers and locked the door, then prepared to enter a deep meditative state with the help of a few cans of guinness.
but it was no use.
doris put her disco collection on the gramophone, and soon all i could hear was out of tune screaming to what i think was the soundtrack of 'saturday night fever'.

this went on until four am, with only brief pauses for troughing on chocolate creams, sausage rolls, mars bars etc.  oh and beer - crates of the stuff.

i made the mistake of tiptoeing down in my dressing gown. unfortunately, my cord got caught on the banisters, which was painful, and i revealed myself.  flossie immediately charged up the stairs towards me, and i just had time to discard my dressing gown and throw it over her face before sprinting to the safety of my room. 
flossie fell backwards and knocked the others over.
the sound of them falling down the stairs was apparently picked up in honolulu.

that's all i remember.
except that i had run into the wrong room.
five minutes later, doris walked in ...

doris wiggled her hips seductively as she pushed her wheelie-bin sized tartan shopping trolley along the cobbled high street.
her swaying buttocks demolished two litter bins and bent a lamp-post.
and the vibrations from the trolley wheels on the cobbles set off sound waves that sent the cut price denture cream crashing off the shelves at kwiksave.

yes, a shopping trip with doris is always an experience.

all we wanted, originally, was a catering size box of chocolate creams (the girls are coming round tonight and doris insists they'll want feeding up).
but so far, i have watched in horror as doris has filled the trolley to bulging capacity with four meat pies, a dozen packs of sausage rolls, a dozen jumbo mars bars, and a huge sack of sweet chilli, sweet pepper, guacamole, blue cheese, salt, vinegar, cheddar cheese, pickled onion, pepper and gobstopper flavoured crisps - her favourite.
now she's just tottering out of the chemist shop, where she said she wanted to browse the toys department. and get some low calorie chewing gum.

it's all a mystery to me.

i'll be glad to get home, i can tell you.
needless to say, i shan't be invited to join the girls in doris's queenly suite tonight.

think i'll get kev the chauffeur to drive me down to the off licence.
for some proper shopping.