Mrs Charlie Brooker and Miscellaneous Nonsense

Hello,
Three people came here this evening looking for 'perv cams'. Each to their own but I shall say that it's all very well trying to pin the blame on the cam but it's not the perv. Think on my one handed friends.

Anyway I see the world has formed the opinion that Charlie Brooker needs a wife, owing to him being a bit disorganised. I expect the correct response to such an article is to roll one's eyes and say 'silly clucking mother hens' and then think about something else.

Oh dear, not for the first time have I found myself being incorrect. I have often thought I needed a wife or at the very least a free cleaner/PA and I do if anyone's interested. Anyway Mr Brooker's article set off a panic within me. What if the cluckers got together and got him a wife and it was me! Jesus Christ! Could you imagine? Apart from the obvious pitfalls of that much rage in a confined space. Think of the disorder! The piles of unironed clothes, the unopened bills, the domestic chaos and there in the centre of it all Charlie and I shouting at Top Gear and eating hula hoops for dinner.

God it's too horrible to contemplate. I should point out that I am a big fan of our Charlie, although I don't know him or anything. I'm just making it clear that in the event anyone was thinking of fixing us up that it's not a good idea. I'm just trying to avert a potential tragedy and an appearance on one of those freakshows where they go into the homes of the mentally ill and gasp at the dirt.

I have to say it's just as well women aren't expected to do all the housework these days. Think of the poor chap who in a bygone age would have marched me up the aisle, full of excitement at the thought of a clean home and a pair of freshly laundered and ironed y-fronts a day. Only to find me reading, typing and watching telly all at once beside an overfilled ashtray.

Someone invited to a 'past-life regression' workshop recently. Maybe the answer to my total absence of domestic pride lies in a previous incarnation. I was chatting to mother about it as she is something of an authority of these things. I was speculating on which important historical figure I used to be, suspecting that I had servants and poor people to clear up after me. Mother soon poured cold water on that -typical! She reckons I was just 'Joe Soap' in a past life and that I'm working my way up. How depressing.


P.S- I have a number of invites to join a paid blogging/writing thing to dish out. If you'd like one e-mail me here. Not likely to make you rich but a good way to get you in the habit of writing short articles on a wide variety of topics. First come first served.

Cheerio