Lie to Lie Contract
29 September 2007
Len suggested that expectant Mother’s should sign a contract of Pregnancy that should be adhered to from the date of signature - If she had have signed something along the lines below we’d have been able to sue someones arse bloody ages ago!
Contract of Pregnancy
The Cover Girl Clause
A blooming pregnancy where she’d appear on the front page of Vanity Fair, Cosmo and The Dandy in a Demi Moore like pregnancy pose after negotiating a Milllion Dollar Deal with Desperate Dan for the publication rights.
The Pigmentation Clause
Skin the colour of a bronzed statue with no blotchy abnormalities whatsoever and no London Underground vein Map zig zagging across her tummy.
The ‘No Stretch Mark’ Clause
Although if they do appear I’ll be able to lightly buff them out with some Oil of Olay and a Silk Glove.
The Loo Clause
A ‘Number Two’ EVERY Day without fail, commotion, straining or the use of a whole loo roll.
The Movement Clause
Small, Angelic Taps on her abdomen making the sound of crystal chandelier’s toing and froing in the warm summer breeze.
The Superman Clause
A delivery faster than a speeding Bullet.
The Career Clause
Once delivered little one sleeps for 8 hours solid a night and 4 during the day, can talk fluently in all European languages by 3 and a half years old and graduates with honours from Oxbridge at 12. He or She then shuns a high flying political carreer in favour of writing a series of best selling Parenting Books based on Len’s expert Mothering technique (called ‘Learning with Lenbab’) which includes a Forward by me admitting that I had nothing to do with the upbringing of Little ‘Un and it was all down to her.
Signed __________________________ Date __ / __ /__
Diamond
16 September 2007
Just a couple of pics from the recent England -v- Russia game.
Despite two visits to Wembley in 4 days, 6 goals, 2 clean sheets and a win on the horses I still reserve the right to have a moan at the Manager. He’s taking all the glory at the moment however with injuries to ‘crucial personnel’ (McClaren’s words not mine) he cobbled together a side that he would never ever consider and a style of play that historically he’s never used.
For the record here’s the team that I’d pick (injuries notwithstanding) noted down on a yellow sticky approximately 2 or maybe 3 weeks ago…
GK - P. Robinson
DR - M. Richards
DL - A. Cole
CB - J. Terry
CB - L. King
RM - S. Wright - Phillips
LM - J. Cole
CM - S. Gerrard
CM - O. Hargreaves
FW - W. Rooney
FW - M. Owen
As you can see the formation is a 4-4-1-1 with a diamond (copyright T. Venables) formation in midfield - coincidentally similar to the formation that McClaren has been ‘forced’ to use for the last 2 games.
At least Wembley was looking good…
The Appliance of Science
09 September 2007
‘…they go up diddly up up, they go down diddly down down…’ - Those Magnificent Men in their Flying Machines, Ron Goodwin, 1965.
In an attempt to turn the humble art of writing into an extreme sport I submit the following paragraphs. Incidentally, this entry will probably give me an indication as to whether Len (or any other woman for that matter!) reads this site and whether examining the intracies of the female’s mental state whilst pregnant is really advisable - To attribute the term ‘Scientific’ to a Diary entry would be an extremely pompous and/or pretentious act. With that in mind, I’d like to welcome you to the first (and possibly last) www.steveqpr.co.uk Scientific Diary Entry…
Hormones are NOT apparantly a description of the sounds made by a prostitute whilst faking an orgasm.
A quick search of www.dictionary.com shows that it’s a commonly mis-spelt word…
ANY bloke who’s EVER experienced their wife, girlfriend, significant other or work colleague during the throes of pregnancy will testify that the word ‘Hormone’ has a silent and secret letter missing purely for the benefit of the female species. In this entry I’ll be using the correct spelling that was used by Monsieur Roget and Mr. Oxford right up to the minute that their respective wives told them that they were expecting.
When your partner’s Hormoanal you’ll be told by Baby Books that there might be a change of their body temperature or indeed they may feel under the weather, they might sleep a lot or they might even have weird and wonderful food craving’s.
What these Baby Books don’t tell you that the simple art of watching the TV may be interspersed with floods of tears to the extent that dehydration of your expecting partner is a major issue - Len’s name appears on these pages courtesy of Volvic.
Whatever you do will be roundly criticised; even if you’re following your loved one’s instructions to the ‘Nth’ degree the attempt at your chosen or instructed task will be met with derision… at your once heralded (decaffinated) tea making skills, your wash basket carrying approach, your hoovering proficiency and even (heaven forbid!) your car washing technique.
As you recognise these Hormoans kicking in you’ll become adept at agreeing with your wife - ‘Yes, I really can see the difference between Fairy Liquid Pink Petals and our previous Washing Up Liquid’, I heard myself say today.
…and also counting to Ten before considering whether you want to question the mentality of someone who cries when Lewis Hamilton Crashes his McLaren on a qualifying lap despite having no interest in Motor Racing whatsoever.
A quick search on Google came up with the following quote in relation to the subject of Hormoans during pregnancy…
‘…Most men find it difficult to fully comprehend what is causing all these changes…’
This author would offer the following amendments to Scientifically conclude this entry…
‘…All men find it impossble to fully comprehend what is causing all these changes…’
das boot
02 September 2007
The Question - Where do the the mentalists that appear on X-Factor hang out when they’re not attempting to become famous, make a load of cash and buy their Mum the house next door to Marti Pellow’s Gaff (a reference taken straight from Saturday evenings show!)?
The Answer - It would appear that from 6.10am ’til 12pm every Sunday their chosen place of worship is the Cheltenham Race Course Car Boot Sale (They’d call it a Car Boot Bonanza and/or Spectacular).
Today I mixed with what Michael Barrymore would call ‘My People’ when he’s attempting to patronise them by telling them that they’ve got talent as they spin plates or sing Sinatra.
I arrived with my Mother-in-Law at 6.10am and by 6.11am had made my first sale - Len’s bottle of Baileys went for 3 quid and I bet my right goolie to a packet of pork scratchings that it was opened and consumed by 6.15am despite the woman’s assurance that she doesn’t usually start on the heavy stuff ’til 7am at the earliest.
So began the avalanche of pound coins and fifty pence pieces as electrical goods, pictures and my wardrobe from the last 10 years disappeared in a flurry of plastic bags and swinging coat hangers. I thought I might make more than a few quid on the clothing as the majority of it bares some sort of desinger name or logo. Unfortunately I soon learnt that it’s impossible to explain to a bloke who may have been the lead singer from German Pop Band Trio considering the amount of Da Da Da’s that eminated from his husky voice that Diesel isn’t only what he’d put in his Volkswagon or Evisu isn’t a song by Buddy Holly. To avoid confusion every item of clothing was priced at 2 quid and when the jeans that I paid £110.00 for disappeared for £6.00 the tears in my eyes weren’t just caused by the radioactive onions coming from the Hot dog Wagon that was doing a roaring trade by 7.30am.
‘Pretty, Pretty, Pretty, Pretty Evisu’ - Holly extol’s the virtues of designer jeans
They were all there this morning, the Eastern European Lady who’d obviously modelled her make-up application on Alice Cooper instead of Anne French, the Country ‘n Western Gang who all tucked their shirts into their jeans and wore Belt Buckles which grazed their burger filled beards, the bloke who parted his hair on the side using Swarfega, the Question Master who modelled himself on Corporal Luis Fernandez, Pele’s character from Escape to Victory, ‘How much is dis? Dis? Dis? Dis? Dis? Dis? Dis? Dis?’ and finally the bloke on his third visit to our stall who wouldn’t take ‘Bugger Off!’ for an answer…
‘How Much do you really want for that?’
‘I’ve told you offers around 80 quid’
‘I’ll give you 30′
‘No’
‘Come On’
‘No’
‘40?’
‘No’
‘Come On’
‘No’
‘50? My final offer’
‘No’
‘Come On’
‘No’
‘I only want the CD and the Speakers Really, the Mini Disc and Tape are out of date’
‘Don’t Have it then’
‘Come On… 50?’
‘No’
‘Come On’
‘No’
‘How Do I know it works?’
‘Cos I’m telling you that it does and I’ll give you my phone number so you can contact me if you buy it’
‘50? Come On’
‘No’
‘I’ve got 50 in my pocket right he…’
‘Bugger Off’
I predict that Simon Cowell will be responding to him similarly next weekend after he performs a rousing version of Gary Glitter’s ‘Do You wanna Be In My Gang (Come On, Come On, Come On)’.
At the end of the day we made £170 which was then duly nicked by Rosie as soon as I got home…
