An out of work pianist with Tourettes Syndrome is strolling around the streets and bars of Soho one unemployed afternoon.

Walking down Dean Street he sees a lounge bar with a sign in the window
'Pianist wanted for evening performances'.

'Fucking get in there you cunt!' he says to himself and goes to the bar.
'Get the fucking manager of this pigshit middle class wank pit please you cock sucking cunt', he says to a somewhat startled barman.

The barman however obliges and his manager comes upstairs. 'Can I help you sir?' he says 'Yes you can you fucking fat arsed piece of shit, I saw your shitty advert in the cunting window and I'm here to fucking audition...wanker!'

The manager is naturally put off by the man's abrasive manner but his dire need for a top class pianist forces him to agree to an audition. The first tune the Pianist plays is an uplifting jazzy number, not too
involving, yet utterly melodic.

At the end the thrilled barman cries, 'Wonderful, wonderful. What was that called?'

'That song, you big nosed fucking twat, was called 'Excuse me prime minister but I just jizzed in your fucking daughter's eye, and now the cunt's blind...'

'Oh' says the manager 'err, can you play me another. Something a little less lively maybe?'

'Wanker...' interjects the pianist before launching into a powerful ballad which leaves the manager in tears.

The manager through his salty teardrops asks him the title. 'That little number was called 'Sometimes when you fuck a bird up the shit box you get crap on your bell end.'

'I see' says the manager, 'Have you got any songs with less offensive titles?'

'Well there's my jazz number 'Do you want me to spit your ringpiece', or there's the epic 'I don't give a fu*k if you're older my dear, you've still got fucking cracking jugs'.

'Look' says the manager interrupting, 'I think you're a superb pianist but the title of your songs are a little racy. I will hire you on the condition that you do not introduce your songs or speak to the audience.'

'Fuck it' says the pianist 'Why cunting not'.

On his first night everything is going superbly the crowd are lapping up his repertoire and his silence is being received as modesty. The only thing putting off the pianist is that in the front row there is a gorgeous blonde in a black evening dress with a split up the side revealing the tops of her stockings, and a plunging neckline which boasts a proud and inviting cleavage.

During the interval the pianist has got such a stonking hard on that he decides to go to the bog and knock one out. Just as he has shot his load he hears himself being re-introduced over the tannoy, so he rushes back to the stage and finishes his act.

After the show he is at the bar relaxing when the blonde approaches him.
'Hi' she says. '

Hello' he winces, struggling to hold in the expletives.

She leans over and whispers in his ear, 'Do you know your cock is hanging out of your trousers and spunk is dribbling onto your shoes?'

Placing his beer confidently on the bar, the pianist grins, looks her square in the eye and yells 'Know it? - 'I fucking wrote it!!'

I was listening to the radio this morning and the bird who was doing the breakfast show was talking via mobile phone to some daft twat who had been in a queue outside Wimbledon to watch the tennis all night. Cunt! My first thought was ‘get a job and a life you bellend’, but he admitted that he had taken a couple of days off work to spend an hour or so watching some Canadian wanker who thinks he is English belt a tennis ball about.

Why? The game is sooooo fucking boring. It even attracts Cliff Richard for fuck’s sake, you can’t get anymore boring than that. At one time it wasn’t too bad watching the women play, but now they don’t even wear proper knickers to look at, they wear shorts under their dresses. Where is the perviness fun in that? And all the lesbians have disappeared from the game, they prefer to flick tennis balls now instead of bean.

I won't bother commenting on the price people pay for stuff there, anyone who pays a couple of quid for a strawberry must already know they are a cunt.

No, you can shove tennis up your arse sideways, and return Wimbledon back to the things that made it famous…………… Wombles.

Fuck me, a lot has happened since I last logged onto this shithole of a blog.

First of all I ended up in bed with Cellulitis in my legs, they were a right fucking mess I can tell you. After a week my nurses gave up and I had to go into hospital for some treatment, I was being pumped full of shite with an intravenous thing. It was a right twat.

Quite fun lying in hospital though and watching the others who were in my ward moaning their arses off about the slightest thing. “Oh that needle’s too sharp” ….”This tea is too hot”…. “I need my pillows fluffing up”…. “I need a commode…. Too late”….. Bunch of twats! There was one silly old bastard next to me who would not take his tablets when he was given them, he hid them and fucked them off to the bog on one of the rare occasions that he actually went there instead of just pissing himself. How are you supposed to get better if you do that?

I managed to get a bed bath on my first morning from one of the nurses, but they soon realized that I could get about a little better the next day and was given a bowl of water and had to fend for myself. Besides, their time was better spent at the bed next door clearing up after the bloke had shit himself, glad I had a fan.

Anyway, after a week they let me go home, providing I spend a few hours each day with my legs elevated and take tablets that make you piss like a racehorse.

Something else that happened is we have moved house.

No longer are we in the bungalow in Cheddleton in the Staffordshire Moorlands, we are now residing in Cheadle (Staffs, not fucking Cheshire). It was a nice place were we lived, but as I’m not able to get about much and the wife isn’t too good on her legs anymore, we thought it would be best to fuck off to a Town were we don’t have to rely 100% on having a car. I can’t drive anymore and Diana isn’t able to sit behind a wheel for too long. Might as well move now before we get stuck in the wilderness.

And the youngest Emma is going to go to Cheadle College, so it helps if we are closer to the area and to top that we are now only a couple of miles away from my mother who we like to keep an eye on since my dear old Dad passed on.

So here we are in Cheadle, back home to the area I was dragged up in, but could we go for a normal house?......... Could we fuck! We are living in the oldest house in Cheadle, built in 1558, one of those Tudor jobs with all the wood outside and inside, original beams, fireplace as big as a council house living room and all that. I fucking love it!

Over the next few days, I’ll get some pictures from around the gaff posted on the site, both inside and out. I feel like Henry the Eighth living here I can tell you.

Right, better bugger off and get my legs up in the air like I promised the Doctors I would do.

Nice to be back, but it would have been nice if one of you fuckers had sent me some grapes and a couple of wankmags….Miserable bastards!