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Full Facial Reconstruction Doesn’t Have to Happen to You

5 Jun

There are some real misconceptions about the eating of crust on bread. Some claim that it’s the healthiest part. Many people feel it is too common to put down one’s throat. Obviously this debate is pointless.

A similarly pointless debate is about dangerous pets. I’m not denying it’s sad when a child gets mauled, but whenever this occurs it inevitably leads to a debate about owning dangerous pets. The issue, of course, is not the pets themselves, but the idiots who own them. Animals (like children) need to be nurtured, nourished and neutered; if a person is unwilling to take these responsibilities seriously, it is they who should be “humanely destroyed,” not the dogs, chimpanzees or budgerigars. Remember, guns don’t kill people; people kill people.

Having shared my life with a great menagerie of animal friends, I wanted to produce an informative pamphlet that I feel all potential pet owners should browse before making their lifetime commitments. Unfortunately the RSPCA was unwilling to fund my work on said pamphlet so I’m afraid the cheeks of small children and the animals who sink their teeth into them will have to continue to bear the brunt of this organisation’s selfish budgetary decisions. Being the good citizen that I am, though, I am willing to donate a few moments of my time to post a few suggestions here.

It is important to remember that while all humans are also animals, not all animals are humans. This is why you should never dress them in human clothes nor give them access to weapons of any sort. Although pets clearly can become members of the family, remember that their animal instincts can kick in at any time.  If an animal is hungry or angry, he will scrounge or attack. It’s just human nature.

Additionally, animals need to be trained and they learn from what they see. When a pup sees you kiss a child on the nose, he will want to do the same. Then your child’s face is ripped off and suddenly you’ve started a Daily Mail campaign to have the breed eliminated. Come on now. You shouldn’t be that surprised—animals see then animals do.

Needless to say all, animals need food, water, shelter and medical treatment.  If you can’t provide these, you definitely should not own a pet. Concentrate on doing your best with your children instead (note: they need food, water, shelter and medicine as well.)

In terms of exotic pets, my feeling is quite clear: leave them be. There are probably moral reasons to avoid them but most importantly, exotic pets are often unattractive and associating with anything unattractive reflects negatively on you. They do say people start to look like their pets, don’t forget.

Lastly, men who wear gold rings and women whose bra straps are ever visible in public should not be allowed to have a pet. In fact they shouldn’t be allowed to have a child. Scratch that: they just shouldn’t be allowed.

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No Guatemalans Have Died By My Hands Today

30 May

This isn’t a very nice thing to see staring you in the face when you innocently log on to check the state of a young starlet’s downfall:

Rest assured, my dears, this had virtually nothing do with me. It’s been years since I was in Central America and besides it was only one man and he had it coming. I am considering legal action for this blatant attempt to sully my reputation on an international scale, especially so near the upcoming release of my next tome, Just a Bit of Harmless Fun: A Pathology of Venereal Disease Amongst the Lesser Species.

Expect queues at your local bookshop on Tuesday!

UPDATE: 1 June 2010—I’m afraid “The Other Agatha” is wreaking more havoc. Not nice at all. Please don’t condemn all Agathas because of this.

Thank you to all who gathered two hours before shops opened to be first to purchase my newest bestseller. Your dedication will undoubtedly be rewarded in the next life.

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Won’t Someone Stop Russell Crowe?

14 May

For those who don’t care about politics, I do apologise if my recent posts have not held your interest (though I encourage you to have a good think about your apparent lack of social and intellectual responsibilities). Today’s post may be more palatable to those people who apparently think celebrity is more important than policy.

Russell Crowe, a well known actor, stomped out of an interview with Mark Lawson, because he (Lawson) questioned whether or not his (Crowe’s) “English” accent in his (Crowe’s) new film had a bit of the Irish in it. Having not seen the film, I cannot testify as to whether or not this was a fair question (though I do wonder if groans, roars and mumbles can actually have any accent). The fact remains that Lawson is an interviewer, his job is to question. Additionally, Russell Crowe is rather a manly, macho man and Mark Lawson is more potato than human, so I’m sure Crowe must have scared little Lawson to death.

I don’t hold much truck with barbarians who abuse their power but I hold even less for celebrities who throw strops in public. As a public figure myself, I have on a few occasions been asked questions I deemed inappropriate (bra size should remain private between a lady and her lingerie fitter); however, I recognise that I have a duty to my fans to maintain civility in all circumstances. Just because Russell Crowe made one great film in his lifetime doesn’t preclude him from acting like a grown-up, even if his ickle feelings get hurt by a perceived criticism. He needs to learn how to, as I’m sure he himself has shouted at many a crying child, “Stop acting like a crying child” and be a man.

I won’t be going to see his film until he gets himself sorted. Truth be told, I don’t know why they cast a non-English actor in the role in the first place. And besides, I like my outlaws young and foxy, not Australian and brutish. I am too good of a person to mention Russell Crowe’s numerous hissy fits throughout the years. I wouldn’t stoop so low. However, even in isolation, what this tells me is here is a man with an anger problem. I would strongly suggest he contact a professional about the issue. Perhaps he and Sean Penn could take a class together. It’s always good to have a study buddy. Regardless of how he remedies the problem, he needs to remedy the problem.

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Logic is the Beginning of Wisdom, Not the End

20 Apr

Now I’d never dream of calling myself the queen of logicians (see Wilson Monday’s article, “Miss Agatha Whitt-Wellington: The Queen of Logicians”), but I am a pretty reasonable person. I am able to complete a soduku or two and I can follow any instructions Mr Ikea throws my way (though generally I let Christopher complete the manual labour—he’s ever so good with his hands). However, it doesn’t take a genius to understand that there are some things that just make sense.  Mistreating the environment has a negative impact. A compassionate nation cares about its citizens’ health. Just because you can do something doesn’t mean you should.

These are truths that quite frankly seem self-evident. But I worry that critical reasoning is falling by the wayside these days. Schools really need to step up to the plate. What must teachers be teaching if kids aren’t learning how to think properly? Why, when I was in high school, logic tests were required before graduation. We were each placed in locked trunks and given sets of instructions for our release, each step of which could only be completed after solving a brainteaser. We were not given our diplomas (nor food and water) before putting on our thinking caps and getting ourselves out.  (Before you begin thinking that my teachers were particularly cruel, remember that they contributed to making me the talented person I am today and know also that those who didn’t make it had their names engraved on lovely plaques that decorate the school’s custodial offices.)

Unfortunately, mis-logic seems to be the order of the day. Not long ago Pat Robertson claimed that the earthquake in Haiti was caused by the Haitians’ “pact to the Devil.” Now, really. As someone who has dabbled in voodoo at various times in her life (remember Sonny Bono? He was one of mine), I can testify that at no time was I required to swear allegiance to Lucifer. Despite the fact that Pat Robertson, as a televangelist, does have a direct line to God (I believe it’s a premium rate number), I’m afraid I just can’t believe that the Almighty works in this way. The argument is based on faulty reasoning. After all it implies that the only way the French would surrender is if the Devil himself got involved, and that certainly doesn’t ring true with the rest of their history.

Possibly the world’s most dangerous fuckwit in the logic department these days is one Mr Rush Limbaugh. Some of his gems include the promise to move to a country with universal health care if the US tries to offer universal health care; his claim that a white man withdrew from an election because he was a black man; and his blaming marital infidelity on Obama. So you see what we’re dealing with here. However, his most recent words of wisdom have literally knocked me out of my boots. Limbaugh believes that the volcano eruption in Iceland is God’s way of showing his disapproval of the US Health Care Bill.

Stop and think for just a moment. Given the fact that Limbaugh is still walking around breathing, we must believe that God is merciful, so it seems unlikely that he would cause suffering to so many people, just because one country’s government passed a bill he wasn’t keen on. After all, when he was cross with Sodom and Gomorrah, he threw his wrath right down on them, not some British tourists trying to get home from Portugal.

Additionally, from what I remember of his son, God doesn’t strike me as an insurance company fan. When Jesus healed the sick, did he require forms and pre-approval? Did he deny those with pre-existing conditions?

Rush Limbaugh spews bad logic like Eyjafjallajokull spews ash. Both get into our atmosphere, make people feel poorly, cause significant disruptions to air travel (well, you know what I mean) and must be contained.  When faced with a crisis, whether it involves being locked in a wooden trunk or a controversial federal bill, critical reasoning must prevail. Plate tectonics caused the Icelandic volcano to erupt, plain and simple. Besides, at this point, God’s too busy to be worrying about US politics. Most of his time is bound to be tied up voting to get Kate Gosselin off Dancing with the Stars. Duh.

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Should A Boy’s Best Friend Really Be His Mother?

14 Mar

I have never been a huge proponent of days set aside to celebrate reproduction (Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, Cinco de Mayo, etc).  To me, the simple fact that one participated in the merging of egg and sperm hardly makes one deserving of a whole day of recognition. However, I am clearly alone in this view. Germany has its Muttertag, America its Mother’s Day, and today we have Mothering Sunday.

As you know, I have a mother and I have resigned myself to sending her a card (and possibly ringing her, if I’ve enough vodka in the house) on the second Sunday of May. I will do that, because that is what one does. However, I do feel that some people take the whole “honour thy mother” thing a tad too far.

I am not unaware that mothers make sacrifices for their children. And I acknowledge that most go to some trouble to care for their offspring. Fair dues. However, my mechanic regularly services my car (and even buffs the interior leather), and I certainly don’t feel compelled to “honour” him with perfume and flowers on an annual basis. Why mothers should be celebrated simply for doing their job is beyond my comprehension.

Have you noticed it’s often men who feel obliged to go out of their way on Mother’s Day (without any regard for the fact that the woman who actually pays their salary needs to be driven into town for brunch with her new editor)? Maybe my confusion lies in the fact that I am a daughter. Clearly mothers have different expectations of daughters, which could cause the relationship to be somewhat strained. I asked Christopher why sons are the worse offenders in terms of showering adoration on their mums; silence was his only riposte. I guess, bringing him into a world of beauty and sophistication means nothing, whereas the simple act of buying and laundering his pants for sixteen years apparently deserves lifelong gratitude.

Of course, having never known the apparent “joy” one experiences after giving birth to a younger and generally smaller human, I cannot speak from personal experience of the so-called maternal bond. Clearly, there must be something to this veneration of “a mother’s love” for nothing without some basis in reality could be tolerated by the public for so long. It isn’t that I begrudge a mother and son wanting to acknowledge their mutual affection—-more power to them. However, I simply think it needs to be kept in check (particularly if it interferes with my work schedule). The umbilical cord must be cut at some time or heaven knows what could happen.

As I said, though, I know I am the lone voice of sanity with regards to this issue. So, “Happy Mother’s Day” to all of you mothers out there. A good day to you all. Enjoy this afternoon with your son. Please don’t let me and the future of my career affect you in any way. I’ll make my own way to my meeting, don’t you worry. Savour your time together, because tomorrow he’ll come back to me. Never you fear.

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What Fresh Hell is This?

20 Jan

If you have come here to find out for whom you should vote in the upcoming election (whose date looks to be May 6th, but my goodness, you shouldn’t be relying on me to schedule such important things), I’m afraid you will meet with disappointment. I am well aware that many people are such blind followers of celebrities that they have created a whole industry dedicated to emulating them.  Undoubtedly there are people out there who would love to be more like me (and why wouldn’t they?); however, I refuse to influence anyone’s decision about such an important topic as which party should rule our country. So if you want someone to tell you how to vote, you will need to go to elsewhere.

However, I do feel it is not an abuse of my overwhelming popularity to make a simple statement about the most important issue facing us right now: the economy.

I’m not oblivious to the fact that we’re in a “recession”; just because I have an endless stream of income doesn’t mean I’m not aware that others do not. I read the papers and I occasionally watch the telly, and as you know I have nothing but respect for John Humphrys and if he says there’s trouble, I know there’s trouble.

Furthermore, as a woman of the people, I care about the people. If my neighbours are no longer able to afford to have their paper delivered and instead have to walk down to the news agents themselves, well, that’s worrying. However, I have recently learned that the situation might be even worse than anyone had previously imagined. What has really “blown my mind” is the way it is affecting local council budgets. As a result, the lives of everyday people are going to be affected in ways beyond our current comprehension. Those with a strong constitution may be able to face the entirety of the new budget proposals of East Devon District Council, but for the rest of you, I will just highlight a few alarming cuts:

Cease maintaining town clocks and coloured festooned lights

Now we’re not talking about the removal of the town clocks and coloured festooned lights (I believe this implies that the white lights are safe). In many ways, completely destroying them would be preferable. As it stands, the clocks and lights will still be there, just not maintained, serving as haunting reminders to the townspeople of how low we’ve gone.

No planting of hanging baskets or flower beds at gateways to the town

A gateway without beds or baskets? And the Council expects citizens to still be able to walk with their heads held high?

The closure of Littleham public toilets and ending the deep cleaning of toilets.

Now certainly just because we’re in dire straits does not mean that we need to use the loo any less frequently than we did in times of fecund plenty. Our times are so tight that not only are our excretion opportunities more limited but when we do have to go, the toilets will only have been lightly edulcorated. This must surely indicate that we are in crisis mode.

We are a country in distress. People, friends, citizens of one of the top six or seven countries in the world—please keep these devastating effects of the economic downturn in mind when making your decision at the ballot box.  Think of those poor people of Sidmouth, unable to look at flowers falling from baskets as they rush to unhygienic public conveniences while being unsure if the town clock is correct. The government is chosen by the people for the people. Choose wisely.

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World Weariness and How to Overcome It

1 Dec

I am feeling rather low today, dear readers. I’m not sure if it’s the heat or simply my incredibly busy schedule catching up with me, but I am overcome with a feeling of malaise. I don’t find it a coincidence that I first noticed this as I was sipping my tea and toast this morning while reading over the newspapers’ headlines.

First off, there is not a single headline which contains my name. While this may seem simply personally disheartening, what it made me realise is that thought-provoking writing by fascinating people is not deemed as “newsworthy” as it once was. While I certainly understand that it is important to sympathize with the plight of the mentally ill or be outraged at the extent of governmental abuse, it is also essential that the media covers great culture so that young people can learn about my affect on the world we live in.

In addition to newspaper editors’ refusal to cover the lives of intriguing and attractive members of the literati, they seem hell-bent on only featuring stories which reek of doom and gloom. Quite frankly I am a bit fed up to here with it. All of us have felt down at some point in our lives and, regardless of our family backgrounds or history of methamphetamine abuse, we run the risk of “relapsing” into depression when things look bad. What we could really do with is some good news for a change, and therefore the media should be required to print some occasionally, if only to temporarily supply us with a “hit” of optimism.

I’ve no doubt that journalists will argue that their job is simply to provide information about whatever is going on in the world, regardless of whether it is seen as good or bad. To some extent, I agree. However, a recent report examining the correlation between the high suicide rate and the viewing figures of Fox News makes for some interesting reading, to say the least.

So what are we, the innocent public, to do when this feeling of lassitude sweeps over us? We could write letters of protest to news organisations, insisting that they cover some happier news stories, which I am sure do exist out there somewhere. Or we could create our own news: go out into our communities and do something good and then hound our local media until they cover it with the appropriate headlines, tone and background musical accompaniment it deserves. Or we could disregard the whole industry and investigate good news ourselves by touching base with friends or relatives to whom we have not recently spoken and share in their celebrations of prize-winning vegetables, impressive divorce settlements or negative biopsy results.

Or we could take our gin and tonic slightly earlier than usual and then go off for a short nap, which is what I intend to do now.

Smiles all round, darlings!

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I Don’t Want to Alarm You, But There Are Some Unpleasant Things on the Internet

11 Nov

This week I have learned a very unpleasant thing about the society in which we are all living in today.

Despite my normally uplifting personality traits, I’m no fool. I know that bread falls butter side down, if you know what I mean. Terrible things exist in the world, but it is not of my nature to harp on about them (as my readers surely know). But this week I discovered something so shocking, so utterly despicable that I feel I must harp on about it, if only to protect some of you more gentle souls from stumbling across this putrescence yourselves as you are checking the latest cricket scores or searching for a cheese scone recipe (which, by the by, you can find in my most recent cookbook, Recipes My Grandmother Used to Follow Which I Have Altered So That You Can Actually Stomach The Final Results).

ngbbs4bb003614723fHere is my discovery: someone is using the Internet to display pornographic images. I am sorry to be the one to announce this. The Internet was such a pure place until this person began to corrupt it with dirtiness. What has happened to the world, I ask?

(While I cannot at this time discuss the details of how I came to learn of this, can I at least remind you all that I am not the only woman who wears my brand of stockings? Please don’t be fooled by misleading claims—I am not a reader’s wife and my hair color is naturally and consistently blonde.)

What I really don’t understand is how President Obama has allowed this to occur. I really thought he believed in freedom. Don’t we have the freedom to not have to look at scantily clad ladies manhandling their mammillae or nearly nude men pulling at the backs of their Y fronts? Dear sir, is that freedom? I still pay taxes in the United States of America, and I would have thought that one of this administration’s priorities would have been keeping the Internet free of such images. I suppose I am idealistic, but idealism is no bad thing. At least it’s not as bad as some of things I’ve seen online this week. Oh my. I implore our new president to do something to keep cum shots away from the faces of decent, respectable women like me.

Quite frankly, I don’t understand why men (for it is they) would like to access such pictures on their computers. Surely, part of the thrill of pornographic material is the public announcement of one’s sexual dysfunction through the process of going to some seedy WH Smiths, grabbing the offending material in their grubby little hands, and completing the transaction in front of innocent shoppers. I don’t claim to understand their ways, but I would have thought that private use of this material was besides the point. What on Earth would a man do with pornography in the privacy of his own study or office cubicle? Goodness only knows.

We can do something to combat this growing cancer before it becomes too large to remove without the use of radiation therapy. We must appeal to the Internet’s editors; surely they will agree that their names are being tarnished by the publication of smut under their watch. If they refuse to act, we must insist upon their resignation.

The only other thing, I’m afraid, that we can do is be vigilant in our Internet use. I would suggest avoiding the following words when doing Internet searches:

  • jiggly
  • underpants
  • twelve incher
  • doggy, pussy, horse (or any domesticated animal species)
  • dangle
  • lonely
  • housewife
  • cock

Alas, once again it falls to the decent people of the world to take responsibility for their own safety. I’m afraid if you can no longer do random searches for “virgins who are gagging for it” without being confronted with some pretty unsavoury results. However, I do believe searches on “becoming a suicide bomber” are still relatively safe.

Be careful, dear ones. You never know across what you might come.

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Betrayal in the Village

26 Aug

I am finally home and settled from the trip. Crossing the Atlantic is always an adventure and, whilst I did enjoy seeing friends and family and experiencing the sights and sounds, there’s nothing like drinking out of your own teacup.

My timing was perfect. While I don’t flatter myself that I was the sole motivation, I was particularly pleased to be back to witness the exciting Ashes victory. As always, I send my best to the boys in white with the green-stained knees and the red smear along the rise. There’s nothing that swells the pride more than watching Ricky Ponting pull his Bush-the-morning-of-9/11 face.

However, I am afraid I do have to report that not all was champagne and confetti when I got back. I am very displeased by some more local news concerning the Old Vicarage of my village. The building had been for sale for quite some time, and there were rumours circulating about possible purchasers for months. I was distressed to find upon my return that not only had the property been bought, but the new owners have already moved in. I confess to feeling slightly let down by the Parish Council—surely a village resident as important as I (and this is not pride speaking, it’s purely objective fact) should have been consulted before any final decisions were made. I was not, and the first I knew about it was on the morning of my return (Christopher confesses he chose to deliberately withhold the information from me during our twice-daily chats as he knew it would only upset my already delicate traveler’s tummy—bless).

I am very disappointed. It’s not the owners’ background, family situation, lifestyle choice, economic demographic or professional standing which causes me dismay, for I know none of these. Additionally, I have yet to see any dramatic changes to the Vicarage itself since their arrival (it remains St George’s Cross- and Staffie-free). What is sticking in my craw is simply their name.

Before you accuse me of being a nit-picker (which, may I just point out, is a graphically offensive description for someone whose only crime in finding details valuable), I would like to tell you the family’s name. It is Coxender.

Now, clearly there is a sexual connotation present (if you missed it, I suggest you go to your nearest closet, shut the door tightly and whisper the name aloud). It’s awkward, of course, and may lead to their children being bullied but quite frankly the abuse of children by other children has never been a grave concern of mine.

What does disquiet me is the fact that Coxender was the name of an old love rival of mine. Years ago, one of my gentleman friends abandoned me in favour of a woman of questionable morals whose name was Oleanna Coxender. In retrospect, of course, I have no doubt that I was the more desirable catch and that young William was purely blinded by the pressures of masculine pride and the charm of the absence of knickers. Still, I was heartbroken and have done my best to sweep the whole ugly experience under the Oriental carpet. Now, unfortunately, I am forced to confront this hurt every time I am driven through the village. The cruelty is almost beyond belief.

It’s so disheartening that people’s definition of community seems to no longer extend to anyone other than themselves. A truly sad day.

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Michael Jackson Will Not Be Caught Dead in Our Village

24 Jul

This morning when I was at the post office (mailing out some autographed pictures, so if you have requested one, watch for it in your letter box soon), my eye was caught by a small blue card pinned up on the local notices board. Scrawled in blue ballpoint ink it read: “Michael Jackson Look-Alike Needed, Please ring Mr Gluegeyser on 671972.”

Now, forgive me for dropping names, but I am well acquainted with Mr Gluegeyser in his role as head of our Lacemakers’ Society Guild and he regularly dines at my club. He is normally a very sensible man, but I was so shocked by this public display of stupidity that I confess I took down the card and deposited it in the bin.

Firstly, as a public figure, I find the concept of “look-alikes” morally and ethically offensive.  In fact, I believe they are a violation of integrity and should be illegal. My face implies my name (Miss Agatha Whitt-Wellington) and my name implies my writing and, if someone were to pretend that they had composed any of my works, I can assure you that the law would see that as a breach of copyright (as my relatively long list of previous court cases will testify to). Impersonating a person is the same as publicly announcing, “I have accomplished all these great things,” when clearly all you have done is have been born with a particular nose or had your hair dyed and styled in a certain way.  Those are hardly accomplishments, now are they?

I imagine for most people who by chance resemble a famous person, it is more of an embarrassment than a benefit. I was once approached by a couple at one of my book signings. The man commented that he felt his wife looked like me. I had to then point out that in fact her hips were much wider, her skin much blotchier, her bust much saggier and her eyes not nearly as sparkling as mine. The whole scene was quite uncomfortable for all of us — if only he had left well enough alone instead of forcing me into telling the truth.

The real problem with celebrity look-alikes, though, is that hiring one is the same as lying to the public, which I believe is covered under the Trades Description Act. Mr Gluegeyser is hoping to draw more people to the Guild by convincing them that Michael Jackson will be coming. This is a lie. I don’t know why Michael Jackson would appeal to lacemakers as he never engaged in or supported this activity. Additionally, to the best of my knowledge, Michael Jackson is dead so the likelihood of his stopping off at our village is probably pretty slim anyway. Through this kind of promotion, the Lacemakers’ Society Guild is simply taking our community for fools.

I myself, however, may be available to speak to the Guild in the upcoming weeks. Mr Gluegeyser should feel free to ring Christopher to discuss rates and dates.

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