Well, I'm back and I'm NOT happy. Imagine, I come out of a 2 month long coma during which I have 67 near death experiences (frigging Doris Stokes ... if I never see her face again it will be too soon) and check out what been going on at this blog and what do I find? Brenda Bulldyke!

Someone has walked on my grave. That bitch was my 34th. cousin (not far enough removed) Terry Sedgwick's first wife! I tried to warn the silly bastard. You can't marry your sister, it's not natural. For one, she doesn't come from a good family. For two, you've got a lot of lovely looking first cousins and if it's good enough for the Royals it's good enough for you. (I really should have been more specific because his second marriage to his first cousin Quentin was a total disaster. Sedgwick was always a soft touch not to say a bit hard of hearing, so when Quentin said "I want to have your Barbies" young Terry fell for it hook, line and sinker.) For three, most of the marsupials around her are better looking than her. Did the silly prick listen? Not on your Nelly, though I think my third point might have sowed a seed or two.

I thought I'd seen that last of her demented face when she boarded the British Airlines Tiger Moth in 1957. She said she needed to find her own space, Australia (and Sedgwick) was not big enough for her. You're right, another of that prune faced germ Greer's disciples! Good riddance to bad rubbish was the feeling around these parts. We'd thought she'd died. No such luck.

I have to tell you the plastic surgery she had done to bury her old identity is a vast improvement on the gurnic gargoyle that left these shores. Mind you the surgery obviously didn't do much for her intellect, the same old rambling splenetic tracts we used to cop ad nauseum at Xmas barbeques in the Farcus backyard. "Don't eat those snags, they're a symbol of male hegemony!" (Whatever that frigging means!)

Anyhow you're welcome to the trollop, I've got bigger fish to fry. I strongly suspect that frigging Very Reverend Steven Gilallen took advantage of my comatose state to have his wickered way. I am waiting for the DNA tests to come back from the lab to see if he's the bastard responsible for getting me up the duff. Jesus! I'm too old to start changing frigging nappies all over again. Gave that on my 75th. birthday after an unexpected arrival. I'm still chasing that frigging John Howard for child support for my young Timmy.

As much as it against my principles I might have to have a termination. One Steven Gilallen is one Steven Gilallen too many and I don't have child bearing hips any more. More like ball bearing hips after the op. Must go, due for a grease and oil change on the new joints.