Granville Is Dead: Long Live Granville!

No, I'm not talking about Open All Hours, but the wee pinkish gecko that until last year lived in me kitchen. About three inches long and a champion ant-eater, he sadly got ont wrong side of a slippery kitchen sink and that, as they say, were that. After he were gone, the place just weren't the same. There were a damned sight more fucking ants, fer a start. No reassuring scuttling sounds to remind me he were on picquet duty against any an all insect insurgents. No flashes of pinkness as he raced to't safety of ceiling every time I turned ont kitchen light. I miss him.

But I bided me time, left me windows open int rain, refused to buy chemicals to staunch the wee battalions of ants fallin' in and settin' up camp around me kitchen sink. And yesterday I were rewarded wi a familiar scrabbling noise and a flash o pink as I turned ont kitchen light.

I stood looking at 'im, hoping he'd stay and make a meal of all em ants he'd obviously been eyeing up. I think he might an all; he were less than disturbed by me cooking dinner underneath him. In fact, he were a four-inch example of allied reconnaissance. He must have a fair idea of how to make pork and squid fried rice with "sang choi" and oyster sauce, seeing as how he were payin' strict attention the whole time. Maybe it smelt good to 'im too. Who knows? I notice he were grinning though ~ do all geckos have mouths like that? The last one did an always. So I decided he would be called Granville The Second, in memory of Granville who perished so ignobly while fighting the good fight just a year before. It also reminded me of a good Winston Churchill quote: "I like a man who grins when he fights." Must have been thinking o Sharpe, eh.

Speaking o Sharpe, I were unlucky enough to catch the end o "Bridget Jones" on HBO last night. What a complete steaming pile of bat guano that was. Except I happened to flick over the channel just as this drenched Bridget bird were trying to get into some important office thing to tell Colin Firth she'd give 'im one. Or some such bollocks. As I'm about to change channels to save me brain from reacting to all this "woe is me" chick-flick shite, I spot a familiar face parked next to that of Colin Firth. And then the familiar face speaks.

The accent, the face, it's all exactly the same ~ it's Comandante Teresa's Spanish partisan friend, the Major Blas Vivar (of "Sharpe's Rifles") in the flesh. And Colin Firth went, "This is Mr Santiago". Almost dropped me remote control. I know names can be descendent in Spain, but just struck me as a coincidence, and I couldn't help but wonder if he still had "a rag in a bag" somewhere on his person.

And talkin' o being on his person, found an excellent site for what shall from now on be referred to on this site as "Sean Porn" (arf arf). Yeah, does what it says ont tin, so make sure you're at least old enough to study A-Levels before you CLICK this link. Those easily offended or who prefer not to read such graphic pieces of writing, do not read. But everyone else: jump in wi two feet, wey-fuckin'-hey!
In fact:

Beanie babies of the world unite, and start tagging yer relevant posts wi the tag "SeanPorn", heheheheheheee.
You never know, we might start summat.

While we're talking about links to others' very good sites, if you don't already frequent Infinite Muppets then yer missin' out. I have to admit, I'm a long-time lurker but a very infrequent commenter. That said, it's as necessary a read as Four Dinners (DILLIGAF?), The Emerald Bile and o course The Bean Daily. Suffice to say, they're all funny as fuck and excellent therapy for speaking all proper-like and posh all day.

I was about to go off on one about my piece o shite DVD player, but I don't think I'll bother just now. Right now I'm in a happy place, and I dunt want to talk meself into't bad mood.

Soopytwist.

Tags:
Open All Hours ~ BBC ~ geckos ~ Hong Kong food ~ Winston Churchill ~ Sean Bean ~ Sharpe ~ Bridget Jones ~ Colin Firth ~ SeanPorn