Much as I enjoyed Hobbits last night, and despite my enormous tiredness, I lost a little part of my mind last night and it sounds like a silly thing to say but let me explain…

BBC News 24 were showing the preparations for the execution of Saddam Hussein. I am a well known supporter of capital punishment for serious crimes involving direct loss of life (Ian Huntley, Myra Hindley, Fred West etc) but for the first time in my life I couldn’t get the image of a man who was about to be killed out of my head.

Generally you don’t witness condemned people on TV. Apart from terrorist victims in bombings or hijacks there is usually little coverage of that sort of thing and when there is it is usually all of unfamiliar faces but Saddam has been in our lives, on our TVs and the net for the past 16 years (well, at least for those who are old enough to remember the first Gulf War). BBC 24 showed images of Iraq BTR and BMP attack vehicles, SCUD launchers and aging ex Soviet SAM trucks moving down the main Basra road during 1990 and I took a momentary step back in time to a tech lesson in the first year of secondary school. I saw a guy, standing defiant, knowing he was going to lose his life within the next few minutes.

Should he have been executed.? Well given the alternatives, yes. Otherwise he would have been stuffed in prison for the next twenty years, watching TV, reading books and enjoying a life in captivity, but still ultimately a life. He ordered the massacre of thousands of people and invaded a sovereign nation without care (something that ironically Tony Blair and George W Bush have managed to recreate with about the same level of success). So hang he did at 6am local time this morning. Saying nothing more than “Allah Akbar” (God is great) and refusing any last request.

The tyrant is dead, but I feel guilty. The ultimate retribution for an evil man.?

Or the only possible feeling for someone who is only human after all.

I lost a part of my mind.

I am sure you are all waiting for me to rant about one particular thing. That Irish dude. Errr. Sonny Bonno. No that isn’t right. Nobo, hmmmm no they make white board pens. Bonio. Nope, dog biscuits (tasty ones actually). Ah, i have it….

Bono. Or more accurately. Bono. (Because he is Irish he can’t be called Sir Bono). Given a reward by the Queen for his “services to the charitable world”. So where does he fit into this big wide world of humble beginnings, financially massive endings and disease, famine and war killing half the globe.?

Bono has an approximate fortune of £100 million. Not bad for a “Champion of the Poor”. Considering only a quarter of that came from his band U2, it makes you wonder what the hell else he has as a side line. And also asks that question I have asked so many times before…

Why do you need that much dosh.? Surely if you have enough for a packet of fags and a few rolls of loo roll, food aside, that is all you need. Obviously I am leaving out such luxuries as a large plane, several cars and a load of houses around the world as well as several gallons of Guinness a week (well he is Irish of course).!

The one thing that sours this whole “Sir” business is the fact that Bono appears to have more than just a charitable nose poked into the world’s affairs. He appears to have a reasonably staunch view towards the Labour Party to the point where news of his knighthood was actually released on the Parliament and Royal websites at the same time.! Doesn’t that strike you as being just a little strange.? What in hell has Tony Blair ever done for Africa except sell a few million pounds worth of weapons to ‘em.! Weird.

Oh and on the subject of rich people and Africa, how come Elton John and David Furnish rather generously give money to several (not just one) children of impoverishment in the rather toasty continent WITHOUT removing the children from their native homes (surely the perfect way to give a child a proper cultural start in it’s original territory). Madonna… hear that you selfish bint.? GIVE THEM SOME MORE MONEY. Don’t just steal their kids.! Witch.

On this special day of the year we talk of many things. Of peace to all men, of willingness to love and what sort of socks you have been given by your gran, but sometimes we need to take a deeper look…

A look into the way we treat our friends and our families, how we can sort our silly arguments and relinquish long held thoughts of mailiciousness and vengence. Maybe some day soon we shall watch as Palastinian hugs Israeli, as Muslim hugs Christian and as Arsene Wenger give Alan Pardew a little kiss before the next Arsenal vs West Ham match.

As The Queen pointed out in her speech today, the rift between old and young is widening at an alarming rate which is not only a problem but very sad to hear. Our elders hold so much information, experience and a wealth of knowledge about our past that they must be treasured and pickled in gin. How many of us now are adept at dry stone walling and can knit without a thought (ok I can actually knit but that is certainly not the point).

In a year that has seen many people pass through my own life and out the other side. Some to be washed away in the tide of time others to bob around and seem not to want to leave (the unflushables). I have personally made a number of very dear new friends, lost one or two and strengthened others. I have been through relationships like a case of amoebic dysentry but ultimately I hope everything has turned out alright. Only time will tell I suppose.

And that is it. I won’t ramble on for hours and hours about the size of my palace or the greekness of my husband Phillip, but I will say this…

I love you all. Have a very Merry Christmas and may God be with you all (by God I mean me obviously).!

If you were in a violent relationship, would you hang around.. would you stay and take the abuse and continually make up excuses about walking into doors or falling down steps.?

No neither would I. Yet as a tax payer it would appear that some ejit is expecting to use my tax pounds to pay for “safe rooms” in the houses of women (and presumably men) suffering from a nasty case of “housewife’s kneecapping”.

Errr why.?! Yes, yes, I know, it is all about being brainwashed and “love is blind” (am I overdoing the inverted commas tonight or what.!?) but the point is that if you have a problem with something you get help. You don’t create a little prison cell in your own home and then as soon as loverboy has passed out from the 18 cans of Special Brew you don’t scuttle back into your normal routine and carry on as though nothing has happened.

If you are a druggy you get help, if you are an alcoholic you get help. If you are a huge fan of McFly you get help.! Why leave yourself in such a dangerous position that you may end up spending your whole life feeling trapped and worthless or worse.! Ladies and Gents, your help is here. They are called the Police… if you phone them when your partner smacks the living hell out of you then they will usually call round and pick the little blighter up, at least giving you chance to get out the house and head to a refuge/parents house/friends place. Use them rather than put up with a bullying, selfish arsehead who doesn’t give a toss about you.

On another note, the Tropicana. Set back again to January… Noooooo surely not.! Henry Boot Construction are apparently “tying up some legal matters”. Sounds like legal jargon for “we have totally over done ourselves with this project and are slowly backing out as easily (and without incurring fees I bet) as possible. Watch this space for further information. If they pull out then maybe I should run for the job of a councillor.!

Would you vote for me.? Would ya.???

Oh and on the subject of Weston… DOESN’T THIS LINK sum up a day out in Weston for all the people that come here.?

What more is there to do than that in Weston. Eat chips, go on the pier and either freeze your arse off when it is cold and there is no where to shelter, drown when it hammers down, or die of heat stroke in the summer thanks to the Americans and their global warming.

Brilliant.

advertising then and now. shop at binns.

Something caught my eye whilst browsing through a favoured tome of mine yesterday. Twas a bus (natch) with an advert above the destination blind that read simply “Shop At Binns”. Nothing else, just that. Simple, straight forward and sweet. I find it so strange looking at old adverts because the language used in them is so twee and coy, sometimes to the point where they are almost enough to make me cringe.!

“You will wonder where the yellow went when you brush your teeth with Pepsident” went a TV ad from the 1950’s. That always makes me bite my lip. But maybe back then they had already got it right. Advertising, present day style, is an oft confusing mix of slogans, buzzwords and teasing two seconds screen flashes. Massive campaigns by the likes of Coca Cola, Microsoft, Sony and various other world wide brands plaster not only our televisions and radios but also our PCs, our mobile phones, High Streets, the whole country is smothered with over the top adverts. I know it takes a lot to sell a product nowadays because of advances in marketing, quality control and overseas production being cheaper than here but talk to anyone who was alive in the 1960s and I am willing to place a bet that they will tell you it was much nicer then than it is now (and no I am not talking from personal experience).!

Next time you are sat in the middle of town, eating your MacDonalds, texting on your Nokia phone to a Microsoft Hotmail inbox, whilst wearing your Nike trainers (tut tut, little chav you) and listening to your IPod (Why.? Why would you buy one. Why tie yourself to ITunes.?) then lean back and enjoy the international lampoonery that is advertising. People being paid to think up stupid slogans to sell you more tosh than you actually need, making the same people even more money.! Nice going people.

On the same sort of thinking, having just hopped out the bath (and had dinner number two, fish and chips only two hours after a chinese) I had kept in my mind a head spinning fact. Back in the days of sailing ships, canvas powered leviathons that graced the seven seas, majestic wooden creations moving silently from the four corners of the world, it took FOUR MONTHS to travel from India to England. FOUR WHOLE MONTHS. What a thought.! Now remember this was back in the very early 19th century, just as steam power was beginning to make an appearence and the Battle of Trafalgar was moments away from sending several hundred Europeans to a watery (or fiery grave).

Think how lucky we are to live in the age of the jet aircraft and the steam turbine powered ship. Imagine spending four months in a six foot by seven foot, canvas walled room, possibly with a cannon for company in lower deck steerage. Bad food (a burgoo made from oats and salted beef or fish) and thats about it, oh apart from the chances of being shot up by the French/Yanks/Pirates (wooden hulled boats don’t tend to sink by the very nature that their constituant parts float anyway) or catching scurvy, ships fever, malaria or simply getting washed overboard using the forrard heads in heavy seas.

The total wastage of someone’s life is astounding when you consider some merchants would have spent their entire lives doing nothing but sailing from India to England, unloading, reloading and going back again.! But now it is under 12 hours to fly to the Asian continent, whip your sunlounger out and lie on a beach in Madras, eating curry in the sun and flicking away young coconut sellers with a big palm leaf.

I still love the idea of those times though. My thankful ability to immerse myself in a situation that is long gone and empathise the sights, smells and sounds comes in useful. Put yourself in the place of someone stuck on a long and lonely voyage, eating rancid food and tapping weevils from the ships biscuits. The smell of salt, vomit, tar and unwashed bodies from the crew and fellow passengers. The smell of sulphur from the Royal Navy frigate ahead practicing their gun laying. Emotive. And gone forever. So strange.

Ok, before I start, Al Fayed… stop it. Let it lie. The only person who believes that it was a plot to kill Diana is yourself and a few low quality journos from The Sun and The Mirror. Go back to running your large overpriced bazaar and shut the fuck up. Got it.? Good.

Well it is rare that I agree with a Hollywood starlet, but Sienna Miller has come out with something rather interesting and contentious. She has branded reality TV as “disturbing and “bizarre”.! Genius. Obviously this woman has, not only taste, but insight too. The whole reality TV industry is a foul pit of black hell. Why allow it.? Ok, nanny state aside, we should all put up with the damn reality shows that take over our television and clutter up what little decent programming there is left. Think Saturday nights. X Factor on one channel, Celebrity Circus on another and Come Dancing (so called as it is a pile of wank). As usual today is worse than all our yesterdays. No variety, no decent comedy (I refuse to believe that Catherine Tate is decent comedy and Ricky Gervais may be a great stand up but The Office and Extras both leave a sour taste in my mouth).

Let us just remove all reality shows and start again. No more Big Brother. No more I’m A Pointless Celebrity, just real television. Make it fun again people.!!!

*****LATE NEWS*****

Thought I would just pop back and say a little something…

Oversize clothing will possibly have helplines sewn onto the labels so chubsters can get assistance slimming down. That sounds a little over the top as every “glossy” magazines pushes every woman in the country to have legs thinner than pipe cleaners and no tits.

What REALLY wound me up was the whole “Operations for Fat Kids” headline I saw the other day. From the age of twelve obese youngsters can have stomach staples, gastric bands and similar fitted FOR FREE via the NHS.

Surely there is a slightly more obvious suggestion than giving £10,00 free ops to lazy arsed children than that.! How about sending their parents to schools so they can learn some discipline.? Or stopping their pocket money so the overweight buggers cant stuff themselves sideways with Cadbury’s products everytime they leave the house.

If YOU as a parent think that I am going to be happy paying MY taxes so YOUR 19 stone child can continue to not do any exercise and stay in his room eating Macdonald’s and playing on his sodding PS2 all day then you are VERY much mistaken. Medical conditions aside (what.? Like ADHD maybe. NOT REAL. Don’t tell me it’s glandular because I will call you a lardy arsed bastard and you KNOW you won’t ever catch up with me to fire off some witty retort) kids are lazy as hell nowadays. Makes me sound old but oh well. They have far more disposable income but more importantly they have fuck all discipline.

I see enough kids in my shop day after day, acting up and out of control because their bottle blonde mother is incapable of using the phrase NO (quite often she has a large quantity of spotty faced, screaming little shits with her so it is obvious it isn’t just her kids she can’t say no to). When I have children they will be brought up like I was, sweets were a treat I got when I was good. I took going to Macdonalds as a YEARLY thing not a thrice weekly event. I will certainly not allow my kids to run riot and if, for some bizarre reason, they do then I won’t lie back in an easy chair opening my weekly giro cheque saying “Oh little Chantelle has ADHD that is why she is such a horrible, mouthy, spoilt, overweight, spotty, disrespectful, ignorant whore”.

This is all the more galling after the NHS said it wouldn’t pay out a couple of pounds a time for old people with low level Alzheimer’s Disease, to have treatment. Oh so it is alright to pander to chubby little 10 year olds but the elderly who don’t have a CHOICE over their condition are being pushed to the way side. Well how about this then…

Send all the fat as fuck kids to special homes run by old folk with Alzheimer’s. They will forget to feed the kids and so they will lose loads of weight. Genius. Full of good ideas, me.!

As usual it is a case of “It is not my responsibility”. OH YES IT BLOODY WELL IS. Your kid weighs 15 tonnes and needs an entire flat bed arctic (sic) lorry to carry him around. Well stop feeding him chips on a shovel.!

I don’t think I have touched on this before, but love songs… good or bad.?

Some of my closest friends favour the song Angels by Robbie Williams, a song that used to be played frequently in the low quality nightclubs I used to partake in. Everytime I hear that particular piece of music my entire body tenses. Bird swoop from the trees and fly round and round the sky squawking and squeaking. Small forest creatures gather together and go “uh oh, leggit.!”.

You see, unsurprisingly, I detest the bloody things.

Ok that is a little bit of a generalisation. I hate slushy sloooow love songs. The sort that warble on about how lovely the other person is. How they brighten your life, continue ad infinauseum. James Cunt is a prime example. You’re Beautiful is pure sleaze to me. Like someone being slowly drowned in treacle while singing. Years ago I sang Wonderwall to my ex while dancing with her. It is not a love song but the feeling at the time created the illusion it was. Since then I have stopped and listened to so much music that creates the same sort of feeling I have come to realise that love songs aren’t about the feelings you have for someone, they are about the illusion of being with that person once again.

One of the strongest “love song” vibes I get is from Blurry by Puddle of Mudd. It means so much to me, not about anyone really but about my feelings for people in the past, how I have missed the person I am in love with etc etc. The last thing I want is a whiney diatribe that means nothing to me but everything to the toss pot singing it. (Why do I INSTANTLY think about James Cunt everytime I write a sentence tonight).?

Think of the best songs by some artists. Take That for instance (too much thinking while going to the loo I am afraid to say). Their best song was not Babe or Love Ain’t Here Anymore, it was Pray. A love song nonetheless but an upbeat one. No dirge music there. What else we got…. Ooooh The Police, Every Breath You Take. Again a faster, bouncier song than it could have been (despite the bloody awful cover version by Puff Daddy and Faith Hill). Finally Pulp. Their best love song is the divinely beautiful and incredibly realistic Wickerman. A song purely about a river running through Sheffield and the memories of a girl that it conjours up. It lasts 8 minutes 19 seconds and Every. Single. Note. brings to life the feeling of spending THAT Sunday afternoon in a working class cafe, smelling the sweet factory, hearing the water swirling alongside. In contrast Someone Like The Moon is slower and doesn’t capture the imagination at all. Still a good song in it’s own right but the mood isn’t there, the emotions are badly portrayed, there is no care for the characters.

Jarvis always gets it right with love songs. Maybe we are similar in the respect. He understands how love isn’t always about pouring your heart out about that special person. He knows it’s about the feeling you get in your stomach (RE F.E.E.L.I.N.G.C.A.L.L.E.D.L.O.V.E). Like you are standing on the edge of a tall building looking down. That slightly sick feeling, like when you know you were going to get into trouble at school or when you know you made a major mistake at work and have to face the consequences. I could harp on about this for ages because I can never quite express the emotive sentiment that his lyrics create. I hear East17 singing Stay Another Day and I don’t give a damn. Dido can squeal her way through White Flag but I won’t bat an eyelid because it doesn’t seem real. Maybe she feels the emotion but she can’t transmute that to the listener, Mr Cocker does that instantly. The first time you hear the words to Wickerman it seems too good to be true. That someone else can feel like that.

Despite the years apart from a certain Pika and I being together and the I Love Life album by Pulp being released I STILL to this day imagine being with her when I hear Wickerman. I am back in the park when we first got together. Freezing cold, huddled up with no where to go. Simple things like holding hands while walking to Pioneer only for her to not bother going to work and to come back to my place instead. It almost makes me cry for what I lost in her but you all know that, even if she doesn’t. But THAT is just what I am on about. If I wrote a song about it then it would be good for me not you. If Jarvis wrote it, however, then I am SURE he would make you feel what I feel now. The slight sense of loss, the stale but still potent taste of anticipation in my mouth. The uncertainty of how long it was going to last (six years as it turned out).

If I only miss two things in my entire life.

Karen. Jarvis’s Talent. You both touched me more than you will ever realise.

Interesting. Did you know a year ago last week I had been to get my hair cut and was distracted by the delectable boobs of the woman “doing” me.! Weird. Exactly the same as on the Friday before last.!

Neville the ghost has been causing a few weird upsets at work. The watch jumping off a shelf (which was a physical impossiblilty) was the start of it, but now till drawers popping open for no reason have occured as well. He isn’t a spirit hell bent on revenge for being trapped in a multi-channel retail store, seems like quite a nice person but it is difficult to work out WHO he is. A lot of people have had incidents at work (including myself, the sound of a ladder being climbed in an empty stockroom is not the most comforting when you are alone upstairs. Even more so when you check and find that all the ladders are folded neatly against the racks and there is no one else around) who have felt, seen or heard something that couldn’t have happened but did. Locking the doors upstairs and then hearing one slam shut (the locks are 3 inch bolts and the doors self latch so it is not possible for them to slam) made my boss and a junior member of staff leg it out of the stockroom and out the front door.! Sexy Dave caught sight of someone walking past the end of one aisle, an aisle that leads into a wall.!

I have had a few experiences with the paranormal that still scare the living shite out of me to this day. Most of them revolve around a friends Victorian town house. The feeling when you entered the building was cold and bizarre. Never felt anything like it. I would never stay there overnight. Would have shat myself and not in a good way.! Hehe. We did a little experiment one day. Stood between floors with walkie talkies. Stood anywhere but above the cellar door it was perfect reception but over the cellar the interference was freaky.!

Anywho. Enough about ghosts and ghouls and things that go bump in the night…

So did we all have a nice weekend then.? I wasn’t out Saturday due to being ill and working Sunday but Friday night, coughing heartily aside, was great… saw a certain Charlie again and will be going for a drinky sometime in the week, fingers crossed.! Once again I blame Hwang for getting me rather pissed on Friday, little sod. Two more pubs, two more drinks, than normal and I was feeling it badly.! Hehe. Works Christmas do this Saturday so I shall be out after.. probably during when I get bored actually, lol.

Right, a little dinner perhaps, then off into the great World of Warcraft I feel.!

Oh and Sue, we miss you already, the place seems… younger only kidding. Have fun over the other side of town, give Scott a slap for us all.! And watch out for the Mercury this week, I might make another appearance, hehe.!!!

This is a little rant but also more of a plea to the great unwashed (which, believe me, is far closer to reality than you might think)…

Did you know if you walk into Wilkinsons, Boots, Superdrug, Savers, Tescos… actually any supermarket or chemist and a few clothes shops, they sell a thing called deodrant. They vary in price from a few pence to over £30 a bottle but they all serve the same purpose. They stop the smell of putrid sweat from eminating from your unwashed clothing.

I am sick and tired of walking around my shop floor and having my nostrils assaulted by the smell of a person who has forgotten that other people may have a sense of smell even if they don’t (or don’t care).! Every other day AT THE VERY LEAST, have a bit of a wash. Even if you just run a bar of soap across your arm pits and a flannel around ur nuts, that is at least a start. The other day I was too sickened to actually walk from one end of my counter to the other to help give stuff to customers, so I simply went back into the office and hid from the monstrous guff that was wafting across the counter. It was certainly not the smell of last night’s curry or a badly timed trouser ripper but the scent of someone who last introduced themselves to a bottle of Lynx in 1992 and believe soap to be a luxury item.

You see, it causes people to feel prejudice against you. If for some reason I smelt like the inside of Geoff Capes’s leotard I would be disappointed and hurt if someone I worked with/was friends with/lived with didn’t tell me of that fact.! I don’t wish to wander around reeking of old socks so please tell me.! I hope I don’t, hehe.

You people out there should know who you are. I really do not wish to pick on the elderly because I understand the associated problems of an arthritic hip and a bath with no handles. Then again one of my relations is in a similar situation and I have never noticed any kind of whiff around her other than deodrant.!

And the worst culprits… middle aged single women around 55 years old, patchy beard growing nicely. Whilst heading out for a smoke the other day one of these fantastic creatures wandered past me and left, and I am sorry for being indelicate here, the awful stench of a fanny that hadn’t seen a bar of Dove since the Crimean war.! For a second I HONESTLY thought someone had hidden some prawns about the place somewhere and I had to put my hand over my mouth to stop the smell causing me to vomit.! A two week old tuna sarnie if you will.

So please. Hear my prayer. Have a little wash. It isn’t expensive. It isn’t difficult. Pop those clothes down the laundrette and get Dot to give ‘em a rinse. I will serve you faster and won’t take the piss.

Well, no more than usual.!

Did you know that eating a lot of bacon sarnies gives you cancer, according to US researchers. That is to say if you eat bacon FIVE TIMES a week you have a 59% increase in risk of bladder cancer. Iffy wouldn’t you say.? Not many people eat bacon five times a week, not even I do.! Once, maybe twice at the most but not five times.

Then again, if you eat a lot of ANYTHING then surely that isn’t good for you (a polonium isotope perhaps).? Why do people ever listen to these ridiculous results from scientists with clearly nothing better to do than make people worry and then ruin the pork industry with a very big scare story?. There is nothing wrong with eating anything that is edible but all things in moderation. Ironically we sell a deep fat fryer at work that has the slogan “chips with everything” slapped across it. Obviously it refers to microchips (it is an electronic fryer so actually uses less fat than other fryers for the same amount of food cooked – healthier, see). But if you actually do eat chips all the time and nothing else then sooner or later, in theory at least, you will become a bit of a fatster and endanger your health.

It is the same with bacon. This time it would appear the PIGS are running the asylum.!

Moving on…

Common sense seems to have prevailed and we are getting three new SSBN’s (nuclear missile submarines) to replace our ageing Trident carriers (losing one in the process). People keep saying “We don’t need an outmoded deterrent capability. There is no one to cause us THAT much arm. Errr yes there is. Russia (and a surprising number of it’s former states). For instance when the USSR broke up one state (Lithuania) gained a large number of Tu-160 Blackjack supersonic nuclear bombers. These monsters are the biggest and fastest production supersonic missile launch platforms in the world. Not even Bush and his States can compete with that. They also have plenty of the ex-Russian nuke weapons lying (literally in some places allegedly) in storage ready to blow as well as a fair number of the smaller but equally as deadly Tu-26m Backfire bombers too.!

Look at it this way… If they can get into this country and actually leave a smidge of a very toxic radioactive isotope in a damn sushi bar then it wouldn’t be that hard to low level fly a bomber through the baltic and loose off a couple of Kingfish air to surface missiles at London. Hmmmm, London, wouldn’t be THAT bad if they were on target I guess. But that is beside the point. As well as Russia we have China, the “new” Russia you could call it. Huge army, huge amount of planes, no matter how 1960’s they are, trouble with little pointy shoes on.

And to finish tonight, I thought I would post a few memories from when I was very young… I won’t mention too many names to protect the guilty, but I hope people like Gav, Jonny Boy and Jess will be slightly warmed by the imagination of the old days at Milton Infants School…

Firstly (and I am sorry bout this), the smiliest girl in the school (who won an award for it), leaving a HUGE turd in the loos in the first year (well big for a five year old lol). Gav and I creating a road across our classroom in class one during a thunderstorm. Gav and I getting a right bollocking for spending a maths lesson making a 16 foot long stacking block line across the entire of class three. The little wendy house outside that no one ever seemed to use. Mrs Leach and that damn bell, JB pissing up the tree in the lower playground. Gav, you and me playing “Doggies With A Thousand Food” (that might take some explaining). Lee setting off the fire alarm in the third year. Me pulling out someone’s chair making them cry as their butt bit the floor (sorry Rich).! Playing “you show me your’s and I’ll show you mine” with an un-named girl in the third year. Being May King and having to wear tights and a hat but getting to hold the hand of the May Queen (the hottest girl in the year), Lucy. Yum.!

Ok enough for now, next time the Juniors.!