STIR UP SUNDAY? -
- that's what a TV chef is telling me, at this very moment, even as I write. HE'S talking about making your Christmas Pudding. I'M talking about making mincemeat of Caddoc the Haddock, look you!
Master Chef is talking about getting all the family into the kitchen on this the fourth Sunday before Christmas so that they can all take a hand in stirring the pud. Including the dog! The very idea. I'm talking about banishing Caddoc to his Shed as punishment for the "serenade" he posted yesterday - for I need no more convincing that "Cad", the blog author, is indeed husband Caddoc, green-fingered gardener, indifferent saxophonist, and general . . . words fail me. Go visit his blog, watch and listen as I did with mounting horror as a bevy of scantily clad young women parade themselves in his YouTube selection, twisting themselves this way and that . . what's the modern expression . . . "bumping and grinding" . . . their seductive young hips writhing in a pitiful imitation of . . . of . . . stirring up unmentionable passions in impressionable young minds, inflaming young men to transports of ungovernable lust before they hurl themselves upon these provocative maidens with lecherous snorts and grunts and carry them off to secluded nooks and crannies in Pentre Mawr Park where the women "license their roving hands to go before, above, between, below" (click the link if you dare! Just look at it! Blatant nudity and undisguised eroticism!) - until the whole of North Wales seems to be one long sustained bellow of . . of . . . well, never mind. You wonder I need to go sit in a damp, freezing cold Welsh Chapel twice very Sunday? And there was me, Ada Trellis, retired schoolmarm, Mary Whitehouse Soundalike, Scourge of the Permissive Society, on the point of considering the possibility of discussing the question as to whether after due deliberation and a thorough examination of all the various issues involved, I might readmit Caddoc to the Marital Roof. Only as a first step, you understand. There! Glad I got that off my, my, er . . my chest! Is the shed comfy, Caddoc? We are back to Square One . . . well, perhaps Square Two, my little Welsh friend.
Haha! Now I am out of hiding! You know 'tis ME! Recognition - of a kind. I EXIST.
ReplyDeleteBut because you have been watching TV, you have yet to see my morning offering! The scanties are gone, but the message in the song lives on, as I intended. Round Two - seconds out...
Ada I have to admit the video was a bit raunchy but tell me is that where all the action is in North Wales - might be worth a trip when I go up to visit family next spring!
ReplyDeleteThis is fun! Keep it up, Cad and Ada. Maybe you two should become Team Members in a communal blog . . . then the followers, their knuckles white with suspense, wouldn't need to keep clicking from blog to blog.
ReplyDeleteA question for Cad. Where do you hide your PC, old son?
On the plus side, if he is closer at hand you can control him more easily.
ReplyDeleteDoctor FTSE - Good job I came back to see whether Ada was going to talk to me today; but don't think I'm stupid enough to tell you, therefore everyone else, where I keep my precious computer? Mrs T might knobble it with the twitch of her broomstick! Then how would I bare my soul, in the hope she might finally understand me?
ReplyDeleteP.S. Mrs T - what are you doing linking to John Donne if you are so straight laced? He advocates "Off with that girdle" ... I wish!
ReplyDeleteCad . . read between the lines, Man! I think she's got the hots! And for other than John Donne if you ask me . . .
ReplyDeleteWhat do you suggest as a next move, then Doctor? Can you write a prescription that will be guaranteed to cure all?
ReplyDeleteBeloved, see if this will warm the cockles of your heart, this chilly Monday morning.
ReplyDelete