Better than a kick in the knickers with a winklepicker

Thank God for the Daily Mail. Thank God for their ongoing campaign to protect children from evil paedo perverts online. Bless them. Bless them, that’s what I say. Bless them for protecting this 15 year old Spawn Of A Famous from aging, angry masturbators by publishing a photo of her in her mum’s famous conical bra corset and writing a lengthy piece, describing the fake tit grabbing, tongue sticking out incident in detail, rattling on about her mother and tits and yadda yadda yadda.



Now, I’m not sure what everybody else is seeing in this picture of a girl who is OMG ONLY FIFTEEN as the DM takes glee in pointing out, twice, right at the start of the piece, but what I see is a kid, fully dressed, with her mother’s most famous outfit on over her clothes, grabbing the very fake, pointy boobs & taking the piss. I’m getting on a bit, but I do remember my teens, and dressing up & taking the piss were two of my favourite activities, back then. I’m not a particular fan of Madge – besides her two “Like A…” songs and “Pink Elephants & Lemonade” I don’t really care for her music, I don’t like the way she treats horrific poverty in the Third World as an opportunity to handpick a new Brown Baby who may or may not already have parents & I blame her for the continued career of Mockney Charlatan Guy Ritchie due to her needless encouraging the tweed clad arsehole by marrying him, and then giving him an extra shot of impetus by divorcing him. I think her getting her arse out & mincing around in a silly corset for coins is one of the least offensive things she’s done. And, as iconic outfits from the early 90s go, the cone corset is far less offensive than, say, shell suits.

So, yes, “wiffle, wiffle, padding padding”, go The Mail. Look! Here’s her mother in the corset. Here they are getting into a car. Look at the celebrity children. LOOK AT THEM. ALWAYS LOOK AT THE CELEBRITIES CHILDREN. LOOK AND JUUUUUDGGGGGEEEEE. There’s another photo – this time showing the kid’s rather fab hairdo as she gets into a car in her normal clothes, the corset no longer sitting on the top of it. So far, so only-faintly-creepy.

LET’S TAKE IT TO THE COMMENTS, SHALL WE? Let’s see what the Mail Reading Masses have to say about Teenager Puts Corset On Over Clothes; Poses; Takes The Piss.



1 – YES SHE’S 15!!!!!!!! THEY KEEP SAYING SHE’S 15!!!!!!! A 15 YEAR OLD DRESSING UP & DOING STUPID POSES! ONLY IN MADONNA’S HOUSE!!!! Well… technically, no. Not at her house. It was backstage on tour, which Madonna didn’t put on at her house. I suppose constance43 does have a point, in that most kids wouldn’t have easy access to Madonna’s famous pointy boob outfit to throw on over their clothes – it would take a special connection to Madonna to be able to muck about with that particular item of clothing, just as my 2yo is only able to run around with one of the cups of my bra on his head like a hat in my house, because no other toddlers would be able to grab my bra out of the laundry basket.

2, Weirdly, Ann’s point seems to be ‘we all have lots of fun calling a teenager who is just into adulthood a slut here at FeMail– why can’t we do it to this child, too?' Also kudos on rattling off the exact age difference just like that. That’s not at all creepy.

3, I agree, Protap. The culture of sexualising, exploiting & slutshaming children is Contagious Moral Corruption. Well said.

4, This makes no sense, but at least Pietschka managed to do a rhyme – and repeated it, in case we didn’t get it the first time.

5, Me too, Ocean Blue. Creepy angry perving over children makes me sick as well. So many commenters with their heads screwed on right in this feed!

6, YEAH, TAKE THAT, FEMINISM! WHERE IS YOUR GOD NOW??? YOUR QUEEN IS DEAD! DEAD AND INTO OLD FASHIONED PATRIARCHY!!!! WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO NOW????

7, That’s not a woman, Udonome, from the proud country of Somewhere. That’s a child. And I don’t think she needs to be ashamed of putting a corset on over her clothes, leaving literally everything to the imagination. Unless you were referring to the women commenting on the thread, in which case, I agree, and will happily add that the men in question know no shame either.

8, BOOO!!! BOOOO, HOW DARE YOU MENTION THAT THAT FILTHY FILTHY WHORE IS ONE OF THE MOST SUCCESSFUL ARTISTS OF OUR AGE??? BOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!

9, Yeah! Cheap! Cheap like millions and millions of dollars. They’re all the same, these women. Coming over here with their vaginas, having money. EURGH.

10, BOO AGAIN!!!!! BOO FOR POINTING OUT THE BITTERNESS AND THE BILE OVER A CHILD WE DON’T KNOW. OUR HATRED FOR FAMOUS WOMEN AND THEIR CHILDREN IS POSSIBLY ALL WE HAVE TO LIVE FOR, IT’S CERTAINLY ALL WE’RE ABLE TO REPORT IN FEMAIL. BOO TO YOU, SIR. BOO TO YOU WITH BELLS ON!!!!

A while ago, I annoyed a friend by making a sweeping statement with regards to my perception of the general intelligence levels of Youtube users. Like the vast majority of my sweeping statements, it was meant largely in jest. Youtube’s become a part of online life – I use it myself, many times a day, for clips & cartoons to amuse the wee ones and for when I want to share or listen to a song once Spotify’s decided that I’ve had my allocated 9 minutes of music and can never be allowed any more, ever.

Therefore, I retract the comment, made as a reaction to The Only Way Is Essex being awarded the Youtube ZOMG best show ever lol!!!! Bafta (my expression was much the same as Martin Freeman’s)





and offer the following, revised sweeping statement: Between 70- 90% of Youtube comments cheerfully exhibit such a dearth of intelligence, humour, originality, imagination and basic literacy that it makes me wish the internet would become self-aware, read itself and then duly destroy the world in disgust.

Obviously, I could say this of pretty much any much-used site where we troglodytes are encouraged to tell the universe what we reckon – Facebook, Have Your Fucking Say, Comment Is Cunting Free, even my darling shiny, shiny Twitter. My own timeline on twitter is filled with nice or funny people (sometimes even both) tweeting clever, amusing stuff, links that have yet to get tired out, puns that have yet to be ripped off by Cheggers, comments on the news, films or literature, interesting political arguments and so on and so forth. But I am aware that this is only because I’m an elitist twat on twitter and fill my timeline only with people who are going to dance for me, dance like the merry jesters that they are. A quick glance at the Trending Topics list gives a horrible glimpse of the misogynistic, irony-free, mouth-frothing, bieber-bothering dimwittery outside my liberal comedy snob bubble. You always know if there’s been a disaster elsewhere in the world if you go onto Twitter and see a hashtag telling you to pray for somewhere. Calls for rather more practical help tend not to make it into the top 10 trends, especially if Justin Bieber’s just done something/said something/has a lovely smile, or if everybody’s replacing words in film titles (usually the same words in the same 3 Harry Potter films titles) with the word ‘bacon’. With Hilarious Consequences. My favourite Trending Topic phenomenon is the ‘OMG why is this trending?’ Loop, when something obscure or in poor taste trends for a bit, so instead of looking it up if they don’t understand or ignoring/quietly snarking if they don’t approve, twits in their hundreds tweet either ‘LOL “Obscure Thing” is trending! WTF?!?’ or ‘OMG I can’t believe “Offensive Thing” is trending! That’s so offensive!!!’ so, the thing rises up and up the trending topics, and then stays there, held aloft by people tweeting that either they don’t understand what it is or that they didn’t want to see it trend in the first place. Genius.

Getting back to the Youtubes. What’s sparked my most recent despair in the keyboard mashings of the people who like to watch clips with their eyes, form one or more opinion that may or may not have something to do with what they’ve seen and then let everybody else wanting to watch the clip know what it is that they reckon about this thing, is my recent jaunt down the Memory Lane branch of the Information Superhighway.

And, to be fair, Youtube is brilliant for that. Pretty much every thing that you might remember is on Youtube, now. You don’t need a long term memory for telly stuff at all now that we’ve got it. Youtube might also be why we don’t really have nostalgia countdown shows any more. Thank fuck. We can just get in to the Youtube Link Loop going ‘coo, remember that?’ to yourself without Justin Lee Collins barking ‘remember that, eh? Remember the thing? The thing that was on the telly? Remember that happening?’ at you every five minutes.

Because we don’t need Justin Lee Collins to go ‘remember the thing? I remember the thing’ at us now – we have our fellow Youtube users. I mean – I imagine that for somebody to search Samurai Pizza Cats, say, they have to remember the cartoon at least a little (or as in my case yesterday, have the theme tune stuck in my head with ‘Benedict Cumberbatch’ sung over the name of the titular feline heroes for no apparent reason) so I don’t quite see the need that every other commenter on an old tv show clip feels to tell us that they too remember it. I wouldn’t mind so much, but it’s always bloody there, on anything more than a year or two old, over and over and over again. ‘lol I remember this’. It’s not the obviousness of the statement that gets me down quite as much as the repetitiveness.

Because, you see, there’s only ever 5 comment types on any nostalgic clip.

1, lol I remember this. Possibly followed by I remember watching it back in [insert decade here] or I am now [insert age here] To which, my Inner Spock quirks an eyebrow and responds with a deadpan ‘fascinating’.

2, BRING THIS BACK! - No need. It’s on Youtube, or possibly even DVD if you’re lucky. Let’s face it, you’d only complain if it got remade.

3, This is so much better than the crap they make for kids these days No it isn’t. There was some great stuff when I was a kid, and some real shit as well. My kids get sheer brilliance like Shaun the Sheep and Octonauts as well as bollocks like Grandpa in the Pocket (which they’re not allowed to watch because it creeps me out). If you think all kid’s TV these days is rubbish, either you don’t have kids or you only put on bollocks telly for them, and what kind of parent does that make you, eh? EH?!?!?

4, lol WTF is this?!? Read the info, douchecanoe – or at the very least, the title. Unless you’re such an exhibitionist that you feel the need to tell everybody that you don’t instantly recognise something you’ve apparently clicked on as an automatic reflex, apparently can’t read and certainly can’t use Google to find out what ‘the fuck’ this, in fact, is. Sorry, that was silly of me. Please, do go on to BBC HYS, wait for the obituary of a notable figure that you don’t recognise straight away and rush to be the first to comment with ‘Who?’

5, lol their on drugs!!!!! This is a must, especially for any pre-school show, retro or modern, anything with bright colours, anything carefully aimed at entertaining babies (especially by the brilliant Anne & Chris Wood), anything with props or involving falling over, anything with songs, anything with West Indian accents, because all Jamaicans are on drugs, basically anything that involves any level of whimsy. The only possible explanation for any of it is – not that these programmes are/were made by people who understand how to delight small children, but that they were all on drugs. All the time. I mean, stuff like stop motion is obviously a piece of piss when you’re off your tits on acid, isn’t it? As is dancing and interacting with your environment while in a massive padded costume that you can’t see out of. They’re obviously on drugs. That, or the commenter wants to show how counter-culture and edgy they are by announcing that ‘lol there on drugz!!’, which would be rather more impressive had somebody else not done exactly the same thing a few comments before. And three other people on a different clip. And four other people on a further clip. And so on.

As you can see, it’s not the fact that these comments are generally poppycock that grates so much as the repetitiveness of the same old poppycock. Let’s try to resolve this. I’d like to see people take the time to post their thoughts in haiku or limerick form, just to break up the monotony a bit. Come on, it’ll be fun!

In The Night Garden:
Not as good as Dangermouse.
Their all on drugs lol.

A reasoned response to this article

FUCK OFF! FUCK OFF, DAILY MAIL AND YOUR BOLLOCKS, GHOULISH SPECULATION OVER THE TRAGICALLY EARLY DEATH OF A BLAMELESS SINGER PURELY ON THE GROUNDS THAT HE WAS GAY! HEALTHY YOUNG PEOPLE DO SOMETIMES JUST DIE SUDDENLY OF UNDIAGNOSED CONDITIONS; IT HAPPENED TO A FRIEND OF MINE AT UNIVERSITY, BUT I HAVE NEVER KNOWN ANYBODY TO DIE OF A, SMOKING A SINGLE JOINT OR B, SIMPLY BEING IN A HOMOSEXUAL RELATIONSHIP. YOU LOVE THAT TWO HIGH PROFILE YOUNG GAY MEN HAVE DIED OVER THE LAST COUPLE OF WEEKS, DON'T YOU? YOU'RE GLEEFULLY SALIVATING OVER THE PROSPECT THAT SOMEHOW YOU CAN PIN EITHER OR BOTH OF THESE SAD CASES ONTO THEIR SEXUALITY - YOU WANT MATT LUCAS' EX TO HAVE KILLED HIMSELF OVER THEIR DIVORCE AND YOU WANT STEPHEN GATELY TO HAVE DIED IN A DRUG ORGY, DON'T YOU? DON'T YOU, YOU COMPLETE FUCKING CUNTS? OF COURSE YOU DO, BECAUSE EVEN THOUGH THIS ISN'T THE CASE FOR EITHER OF THEM, STILL YOU SPECUALTE HERE THAT THIS MIGHT SECRETLY BE THE CASE, JUST SO YOU CAN WAVE A BIG PLACARD READING 'I TOLD YOU SO' IN THE FACES OF THEIR GRIEVING LOVED ONES. YEAH - YOU'RE LIKE THAT CULT OF 'GOD HATES FAGS' HEARSE CHASERS WITH A BUNCH OF POORLY WRITTEN PLACARDS, ALL IN COMIC SANS, THE FONT OF PAEDOPHILES!

I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU SO FUCKING MUCH! I HOPE YOUR OFFICE CATCHES FIRE WHICH SIMULTANEOUSLY SETS FIRE TO EVERY PRESENT AND PAST COPY OF YOUR RANCID RAG AND THAT THE REMAINING ASHES ARE MOULDED INTO A GIANT DOG TURD WHICH IS THEN THROWN UNDER A BUSFULL OF SEX OFFENDERS, THUS SENDING THEM AND THE MAIL-TURD CRASHING INTO THE FUCKING SEA. NOT EVEN A NICE SEA, EITHER. AAAAARRRGHHHH!!!!

Today is not a good day, news-wise, to be full of Pregno-Rage. Nobody should have to look at Nick 'Drunk, Racist, Ranting Old Fuckwit Of An Uncle That Everybody At The Family Gathering Is Trying To Ignore' Griffin's smug fat 'Whee, I been done gots myself elected' face ever, let alone a woman who is achey and tired and constantly being punched in the bladder from the inside. Angry at the morons who voted for him, angry at the normal people who were too idle not to vote against him. Managing to focus all my anger on the one person I know who joined that Racist Facebook group, even though she might not have voted BNP and even if she had, she lives dahn sarf, so it wouldn't have contributed to either of the BNP MEPs that have been elected in the North. However, I'm picturing every BNP Voter in the land as her - thick, fat, fugly and, if Family Gossip is to believed, a shit parent. Yeah - I'm shaking my metaphorical fist at a hoard of imagined cave trolls whose approach to starting a family is just to stop the pill without telling their partner and are then so busy watching Jeremy Fucking Kyle that they forget to tell their beloved brood how to fucking talk. And they're always so ugly too, aren't they? Have you ever met an objectively aesthetically pleasing Racist - of any Race? No? Me neither. And it's like the fuglier they get the more Racialist they get. It's like there's some sort of mutually exclusive teeth-to-tolerance ratio.

Anyway. There's an interesting article in the Grauniad here, the jist of which is basically 'yes, it's shit, but let's all stop flapping our hands and look how we should go about opposing them properly, since what we're doing at the moment clearly isn't working', which made me calm down a little. And maybe once the Labour party has finally fallen to pieces (as it appears imminently about to do) it can get back to actually being the Labour Party instead of a dysfunctional mish-mash of Labour and Conservatism.

But then also in the news there's the horrible story of the pregnant young woman randomly stabbed to death in Grimsby yesterday, which is shaking and horrifying for me for so many reasons. Being heavily pregnant already makes me feel much more vulnerable than I do when not visibly pregnant. It's not just because I obviously wouldn't be as able to run from or fight against somebody who attacked me as I would otherwise... being this pregnant makes you feel so visible. You feel like you stick out like a sore thumb, and that your blatant vulnerabilities, as well as the vulnerability of the child you're carrying, makes you a glaring Nutter Target. Yes, there have only been three stories including this one of pregnant women being attacked in the street by strangers that I can think of. Compared to all the cases of violent crime against women both in the street and in the home, that's peanuts, I know. But it's still terrifying when something like that happens and reminds me what a high-visibility blimp of a potential psycho-target I am. *Sigh*.

Oh GOD, never, ever use Royal Mail for packages. EVAR! First of all, I'm annoyed because my already expensive CafePress mugs need customs charge paying, but the bloody post has made actually paying it and picking my delivery up from their sorting office a nightmarish labyrinth of Gilliamesque red tape. I walked. In the rain. Willing to pay and pick up my sweet, pregnant self. Do I have my mugs yet? No. Do I know when I'll be getting my mugs? No. Here is the customer complain that I had to email instead of tell them BECAUSE THE CUNTS HUNG UP ON ME AFTER I HAD BEEN HOLDING FOREVER that sort-of explains why.

( In which I'm all posh when I'm outraged )
In short, Royal Mail, you have officially the most bollocks Customer Service I've come across in years. No wonder you're going down the shitter. Frankly, I hope you go to the wall. No business that inept should be able to survive in today's climate. No business that inept deserves to survive. Closing at lunchtime? Cash only payments? You're not a fucking Bring & Buy stall! Fuck off and die. But first, bring my my godammed mugs!

A very 'nice and sunny day', in the words of my daughter. The S-i-L was down for the morning so accompanied us to Playgym and then we had a playdate in the park with my friend who moved away before Christmas, and her twins. These are the ones who call Vi 'Captain Violet'. They are fearless and adorable. We kicked a ball about, the tots gazed in wonder at the fountain (Vi shouting 'Wet! Wet! Drip-drops!' all the time) and then made a bee-line for the bandstand, which they then couldn't be persuaded to leave. Lots of running about in it, kicking the ball around it, clambering up it and carrying things up and down its steps.

Then came an occurrence that I wouldn't have minded if it didn't happen to me or whoever takes Vi to the park pretty much every time we go - the latching on of the Idleness Orphans. Almost every time we play with Vi in the park, we will be quickly joined by somebody else's kid - two of them in this case, one about 4 or 5 and one who was probably about 1 and 1/2 - who, more than wanting to play with Vi, demand attention and care from me while whatever 'grownup' is supposed to have taken them out to the park sits barely within visibility and utterly ignores them. I'm happy for Vi to play with other kids and it's probably flattering that I'm apparently approachable, but I really fucking resent having the children of strangers foisted upon me simply because I take an active interest in playing with Vi when we're out. Plus I think it's incredibly sad for the kids that they have to latch on to any old passer-by for conversation and play. Whenever this happens, the parents never stop doing whatever it is that they're doing instead of paying attention to their kids (in this case, sitting around chatting with their mates) either to play with their children or to strike up the briefest of conversations with me, check I'm not a nutter (which I'm not) or whether I mind nannying their kids (which I do). I'm a complete stranger. I know they can see me, but I can't believe there are people so lazy they'd let their toddler run off and play with someone they don't know from Adam, rather than playing with or engaging the kids themselves.

I just think it's incredibly rude. We had our hands full as it was with three hyper two year olds pegging it around a grubby bandstand, plus we barely get to see these friends and I ended up talking more with the kids of these strangers than I did with my friend or her cutie girls. And it happens with a depressing regularity.

I am not Mary Poppins. Just because I like to play with my kid doesn't mean I want to nanny yours. Lazy Parents Of Britain: GET OFF YOUR ARSES, PUT DOWN THAT COPY OF HEAT AND ENJOY YOUR CHILDREN BEFORE THEY GROW UP AND UTTERLY RESENT YOU! ARGH!!!

I saw an ad on the telly last night as I was watching Heston Wossface making pretend bangers and mash out of rice pudding, and waiting for the sublime Mad Men to start, for one of those crappity Sleb Magazines with 'a special souvenier publication chronicling the amazing life Jade led.'

'Oh,' I thought, vaguely, 'has she finally kicked the bucket, then?' But she's not even dead yet! They're bringing out obituaries for her and she's still alive! She's like that old man with the plague in Monty Python & The Holy Grail. Either that, or she did finally conk out last night and the family have requested a media blackout on it for a few days so that they can have a little privacy. Because that's so very likely to happen. I almost want someone much more famous than her to unexpectedly drop dead on the same day just for the irony of the drawn out, undignified, lurid death of a comedy racist game show contestant with a criminally violent husband to be pushed from the front pages by somebody who's actually done something to earn their notoriety. Or a member of the Royal family. Either will do.

And before anyone shrieks 'RRRAARRRR!!! THIMK OFF THA KIDDY'S!!!' at me, I am. When I lost my Dad I wanted to be alone. I didn't particularly want to share my grief with anybody but my closest family. Why should those kids have to watch their Mum's death splashed absofuckinglutely everywhere, and be forced to 'share' their loss with a load of losers who didn't even know her? I always felt the same for Diana's sons, especially at her funeral. 'Why are *you* lot weeping and wailing and stretching your arms out to these children? She was their mother, let them deal with how they want.'

I've unintentionally seen a lot of flashed flesh today. While walking home from the shops I was passed by a (male) jogger in the tiniest shorts imaginable. I mean, we're talking Kylie Minogue hotpants here. Weirdly, this was topped off by a thick sweater and a bobble hat. Maybe he just gets really hot legs when he runs. Anyway, some students shouted 'Who likes short shorts?' at him as they drove by. A well deserved heckle, I thought I was not in the mood to watch his hairy thighs wobbling past me. Buy some bloody jogging bottoms, man. The clue's in the name!

Second flashing was two chavvy teenagers walking down the road with their arses hanging out. Full arses, not just the 'LOL I iz 2 street 2 by a belt!!1!' builder's bum, so intentional in other words. Not a clue why. Hubs decided it was because they were both Gayists and wanted somebody to run up and sodomise them and then scamper away once more without so much as a how-do-you-do. Probably right.

Oh, and I've just discovered that (one of my many) e-Nemesis' is on bloody Twitter. Only because I was trawling through Graham Linehan's tweets for a particular one he'd done and noticed he'd replied to somebody whose online handle sounded familiar. This is the person some of you may remember from about a year back who made a largely failed attempt to 'Spork' (guh, hate using that bloody term) one of my stories. Oh yes, boys and girls, I really am that petty, and I hold grudges like you wouldn't fucking BELIEVE. The Old Testament God has got nothing on me when it comes to grudge-holding. Whenever her name comes up anywhere I check her profile to make sure that she still doesn't have any friends. She doesn't. Might have something to do with her being a humourless, anal-retentive twat. Who can say. And that's all I ever do to her. Scowl, click, check pitiful number of friends/followers, smirk. Oh, you don't want to get on the wrong side of me, my friends. I'll Passive-Aggressive you to death (which might take me a while, since it would make absolutely no impact on your life whatsoever). I am so supercool and awesome that it worries me, sometimes.

Busy Busy Busy... RL has taken over for a bit what with Hubs' month off meaning we get to do lots of fun stuff. Don't really have time to blog, certainly don't have time to write and I've already fallen behind my reading schedule for Tardos. Should really go into town while Vi's napping now, although I've been online getting loads of details about nurseries since one of the mums at Playgym has put the fear into me for getting Vi a PreSchool/Nursery place for later in the year... do they even still have state PreSchools any more? Doesn't look like it from the local government list I've pulled up. Is this another reason I should be fuming at 'the Labour Party' for pretending to be different to the Conservatives and then just prancing around shutting down state education exactly like what The Bastard Tories were trying to do when we kicked the cunts to the kerb? Hmm?

Anyway, all I really wanted to post for was to show off this lovely banner for When One Door Closes.



Some lovely soul in the DDC Fandom has been making them for all the Tardos Nominations. I hope that whoever it is will reveal themselves once the voting has ended and reveal themselves so that I can thank them personally as well as credit them for their beautiful work.

Scribbles Out
xxx

The Angry Rain God (let's call him Nigel) decided to spew forth a torrent of freezing rain upon me all morning. The ducks were having a whale of a time, since all of a sudden their river had spread nicely to encompass much of the riverbank and rather a lot of Sainsbury's car park, allowing them to paddle about a whole new watery world like a bunch of little ducky Columbuses (Columbi...?) Me - not so much. I got very wet and very cold. Add to that the fact that Vi has a streaming cold and I think I'm starting to come down with it too, so I wasn't in the greatest of moods this morning.

Then along came Pushy Playgym Mum - the 'get your baby out of the way' one that I had a run-in with last year, who made me quite literally CAPSLOCK WITH RAGE. In fact, that was the only way that I could rationalise my feelings in my own mind. Those specific words - capslock with rage. I think I may spend too much time on the intartubes. Anyhoo, she introduced herself to me with the line 'My daughter's having a go on that car after your daughter is, yeah? Because they're for everybody to share, not just for one or two kids to keep hold of all the time' without apparently noticing a, the paradoxical nature of her statement or b, the fact that I was already trying to cajole Vi out of the car she was playing with since I was aware she'd been on it a while and other kids were waiting. In retrospect it might have been a passive-aggressive swipe at one of the mums of the other kids in the cars, since I'd noticed her kid get into some fisticuffs over another car shortly before, but that's beside the point. There's no way that I was going to stop other children besides her kid getting in it after Vi, so I assumed the only point of her speech was, in essence, 'get your baby out of the way'. All it did was royally put my back up and stress me out, since Vi was still ignoring my suggestions that she play elsewhere and now I had this ugly bitch breathing down my neck. In the end I pulled Violet out of the car - she'd been in it for her fair share anyway, but I wanted to get the Hell away from that woman. And then Pushy Mum was all 'Oh, you don't have to get her out of it *now*!' I told her curtly that Vi had been in it for ages, but that wasn't the point. The point was that now, her kid had run off to play with something else. As I walked away, she physically had hold of the car and was refusing to let any toddlers play with it as she tried to attract her kid's attention. i later caught her taking a badminton raquet off a little girl. Bitch. CAPSLOCK BITCH.

Anyway. It's stopped raining now, and it's Saturday tomorrow. I am still(!) doing my character plotting notes for the last New Adventure - Done all of The Seven now and it's already over 4 pages long. Just Venger and pretty much every guest character that's been in the New Adventures left, then. Oy, this is massive. Have also been writing a teensy bit of the ending to Rollercoaster... not that I'm anywhere near the end yet, I've just been thinking a lot about how I'm going to end it lately, and the bunnies need a carrot.

Had epic dreams last night - one involved a big Sleb networking function where I successfully pitched The Specials but when the guy who wanted to read the script gave me his number I couldn't get my phone to store it. Then I had another dream where I wrote about the first dream on LJ. I really am spending too much time on the internet, aren't I?