Thursday, 16 December 2010

DIARY OF A DOWN-TRODDEN, EX-AUTHOUR! December 2010-Final thoughts............Swan song.

December 2010-Final thoughts............Swan song.
Well it is the middle of December already. I can’t believe a year has now passed since I started to pursue the task of getting my books into print. I think it’s time to let go of my dreams now! It is with a heavy heart I write my final blog.
Over the last few months I have been looking on the ‘I Need a Literary Agent’ page on Facebook. It is filled with people just like me and I’m not stupid enough to think my books are any better than theirs, in fact they are probably worse. I have come to the conclusion that I am rubbish at this literary lark! Clearly I am no ‘Mystic Meg’ either, because I was convinced 2010 would be the year my books would finally take off.
Still no closer in finding an elusive literary agent, I have therefore put down my pen for the last time mid-book and as from now, P.D. Scott- Author, will be no more. After all, only a fool wouldn’t know when they’ve been beaten!
I’m not sure what I’ll do with my life as I feel much like a burst balloon and as I have been writing since Kew Gardens was only a flower pot , I’m unsure what route I’ll take. Pole-dancing, belly dancing or lap-dancing perhaps....who knows? Or maybe I could go on a course to become proficient enough to repair and service refrigerators. You never know when Colin Firth’s fridge will break down again. Then our eyes would lock over a packet of frozen peas and as they say in Mamma Mia! Dot, dot, dot.............
I would like to thank you for putting up with my mental ranting - you all deserve medals. Thanks also for all your kind words of encouragement and support concerning my crazy blogs and for not sending me any abusive messages, I bet you were tempted.
Firstly let me take a minute to thank my friends, deranged Chris & Zoe and manic Michelle, for allowing me to rib them mercilessly in my blogs. Some of it true and other sections I admit were laced with a touch of artistic license.
I would also like to take time to thank Norwich based actor David Blood who has been really lovely and kept me sane with lots of words of encouragement. He even offered his services to make my dream come true by bringing his friend and fellow thespian/director Peter Sowerbutts to my house to read out my screenplay to me. You see, I mentioned once how it would be wonderful for any writer to hear their work portrayed by actors. How kind, but I couldn’t accept their embarrassing would it have been if they thought it was a load of tosh? Thanks anyway guys, you are both legends.
I had genuine messages telling me not to give up from the actress and presenter Terri Dwyer which were gratefully received too. I will always remember her kindness in my down days.
Last shout out goes to the suave and funny Peter Howard Sherlock. He often seduces me with bargains of Tommy & Kate handbags and perfume from my favourite Sit-Up TV shopping channels. A couple of months back I was eating my Sunday roast and was astounded when Peter started talking about me and my mad blogs! It was extremely nice of him but it did make me spray my potato everywhere. Thanks anyway Peter.
This blog is sounding more and more like an acceptance speech for an ‘Oscar’ sorry!
Facebook friends, Twitter followers and fellow Firth lovers I would like to say farewell, it’s been an absolute pleasure to get to know you all.
I hope you are aware I have bared my soul for you, but as Bridget Jones would say “It’s only a diary...everyone knows diaries are full of crap!”
Happy Christmas to each and every one of you, I hope you have a prosperous and peaceful New Year.
I would like to take the opportunity to wish you well in your dreams, however extreme or bizarre.
I say good bye with a tear in my eye.
Has anyone got a paper shredder?
Polly. XXX
NOTE TO COLIN FIRTH: This is the moment when you rush in...... sweep me up into your arms and
carry me off into the sunset!!! It’s not gonna happen is it? Shame!!
NOTE TO HUGH GRANT: This is the moment when you give up harassing me!

Wednesday, 1 December 2010

DIARY OF A FRUSTRATED UNPUBLISHED AUTHOR! December 2nd 2010-Penultimate blog!!

December 2nd 2010-Penultimate blog!!
It was Christmas Eve at Pemberley, the grand home of Mr Firth. The fine, quintessentially English, Derbyshire house was adorned with holly and ivy, the aroma of chestnuts on a roasting fire filled the ballroom. A merry gathering of people were enjoying the music coming from the pianoforte. Mr Firth was standing watching his accomplished sister playing a gay song, a smile played on his lips. His good friend Gordon Ramsay walked across the room to him.
“I wager you will not easily find such lively music or such pretty partners.” Gordon said.
“I believe you could be right, Gordon.”
“I saw some acquaintances of yours in Lambton today.” Gordon said.
Mr Firth turned to his friend. “Indeed?”
Gordon smiled. “Yes, I gather Miss Scott and her sisters are staying for Christmas at the inn.”
Mr Firth frowned. “What are they doing in Derbyshire?”
“It is not a flipping, capital offence! Oh Firthie .......why do you act so displeased with everyone and everything in the world?” Gordon asked his friend.
“And how would you wish me to act? You must remember......Miss Scott has already turned my proposal of marriage down.......would you have me ask both of her sisters too? You suppose ‘a single man’ in possession of a fortune must be in desire of a wife?” Mr Firth said crossly. “And do not call me Firthie!”
“I am sorry, what agonies you must be suffering.” Gordon apologised. “I asked Miss Scott to call on us with her sisters.”
Mr Firth stood up straight. “She has little than her charms to recommend her Gordon.......was her husband not with her?”
“Husband?” Gordon Ramsay shook his head. “But lo Firthie, she has no husband!”
Mr Firth raised his eyebrows. “I need a goblet of mead! And I beg you, do not call me Firthie!!”
“Is something wrong?” Gordon asked seeing his friend’s agitation.
“I must overcome this.” Mr Firth muttered under his breath before strutting away.
Mr Ramsay watched as his enraged friend walked over to the decanter to pour himself a drink, looking ill at ease. In the doorway of the vast ballroom unseen by Mr Firth, Miss Scott and her sisters stood waiting for an invitation to come in. Mr Ramsay was the first to look over and welcomed them with a broad smile.
“Ladies, ladies.” He said as he strode over to them before bowing. “No need to ask if you are all look so elegant and charming!”
The three women bobbed a quick curtsey.
“Will you not come into the room?” Mr Ramsay continued. “I do believe Mr Bingley is warming his nuts by the fire!”
“I thank you, sir.” Michelle said fluttering her eyelashes. “We love roast chestnuts.”
It was at that moment Mr Firth glanced over and saw the women entering the room, he walked over to them.
“Ladies please accept my apologies for not receiving you properly just now.” He said taking a bow.
More curtseys were done by the ever-so polite women.
“Please do not trouble yourself Mr Firth, Mr Ramsay was looking after us most admirably!” Miss Scott said with a cool air of distance.
“Well I must say you all look very pleasing tonight!” Mr Firth said with a smile.
“Thank you, sir.” Zoe said blushing.
“I trust your husband is well Miss Scott, or should I indeed be calling you Mrs Grunt?” Mr Firth asked.
“I fear sir, I do not know of his health........ I have not seen him in above six months!”
Mr Firth looked vexed once more. “Oh Miss Scott, pray tell me he has not called off his betrothal. I hope he has not dabbled unkindly with your affections...........He is a curmudgeon! I would drag him to the gallows myself if it be so!”
“I fear it is a long story and Major Huge Grunt plays no ill part in it Mr Firth! You do not need to drag him to the gallows or indeed put him on the naughty step!” Miss Scott told him.
Mr Ramsay smiled at Michelle. “Would you do me the honour of dancing with me? It is a merry little it not?”
Michelle smiled back. “It is sir. It puts me in mind of a sailor’s hornpipe! I would love to shake my little derriere to it.”
Mr Ramsay led Michelle over to where the other dancers were making shapes on the dance floor!
“I hope you are not displeased with Pemberley?” Mr Firth asked Miss Scott.
“No sir, not at all.”
“Then you approve of it?” He asked with a smile.
Miss Scott smiled back at him. “Very much, I think there are few who would not approve.”
“But your good opinion is rarely bestowed and therefore worth the earning.” Mr Firth smouldered. “Would you allow me to.................would I ask too much to introduce my sister to you?”
“I would be very happy to make her acquaintance. Come Zoe, let us meet Miss Firth.”
Mr Firth followed Zoe and Miss Scott as they walked over to the pianoforte where Mr Firth’s younger sister was playing a spirited ditty, much to the amusement of all the dancers. She carried on playing until she reached the end of her piece and then turned to smile at her brother.
“Sister, I would like to introduce you to two acquaintances of mine.” Mr Firth said. “This is Miss Zoe Scott and her sister Miss P.D. Scott. Ladies this is my sister, Mabel.”
The Scott sisters curtsied and Mabel nodded her head respectfully.
“My brother has told me so much about your is good to finally meet you.” Miss Firth said.
“It is indeed good to meet you too.” Zoe said. “Will you not play another rousing song for us? How about the classic “Mamma Mia?”
“I would love to.....if you will turn the pages for me?” Miss Firth asked.
“But of course!” Zoe said. “Where did you learn to master the pianoforte so proficiently?”
“I went to ‘St Trinian’s school for young ladies!” Mabel Firth told her. “My dearest brother arranged it for me.”
“Really? I have heard only good things about that school!” Zoe said with a smile.
“Miss Scott I would be happy if you would do me the honour, of letting me claim the next two dances with you.” Mr Firth said suddenly.
“I thank you, but excuse me I am not inclined to dance. Break-dancing is not for me, I think!”
“Oh Miss Scott please do not be so disagreeable with my brother, I fear he has scarcely spoken of anyone as favourably as he has of you.” Miss Firth said.
Miss Scott smiled at Miss Firth. “As you wish Miss Firth.......I would not like to displease you!”
“Perhaps it would be more to your taste Miss Scott to take a turn around the garden?” Mr Firth asked. “It is very refreshing!”
“I think sir, it would be too cold!” Miss Scott said.
“But you could come in and warm your buns by the log fire.”
Miss Scott nodded and allowed herself to be led into the garden by Mr Firth (how utterly shocking!!)
The moon was high and bright in the dark, jet black, sky. The occasional star twinkled down on the couple as they walked in the frosty garden, the sound of leaves crunching underfoot.
“Would it be entirely inappropriate if I said you looked foxy tonight?” Mr Firth asked.
Miss Scott was dumbfounded. “Mr Firth, please do not be so bold!”
Mr Firth turned to Miss Scott. “You are too generous to trifle with me. If your feelings are the same as they were in June tell me so at once. My affections and wishes are unchanged but one word from you will silence me on this subject forever.”
Miss Scott looked shyly at her feet and then up at Mr Firth’s hopeful face. “My feelings are so different................. in fact they are quite the opposite!”
“I scarcely allowed myself to hope of a moment like this Miss Scott. My past behaviour........oh I can hardly think of it without abhorrence. Your rejection has tortured me......and when I thought of you with Major Huge Grunt!” Mr Firth punched a nearby tree with pent up rage. “I have been a selfish being all my life.............I would still be, if not for you.......dearest, lovely P.D.”
Without another word Mr Firth stripped off his velvet jacket and plunged himself into the nearby, almost frozen, lake. Just minutes later he left the cold water and walked seductively towards Miss Scott. Music seemed to come out of nowhere, she had a sudden whirling vortex of longing. Her heart skipped a beat as his sopping wet, white shirt clung to every contour of his manly body.
“Oh, Mr Firth! You look so well like that.” She whispered. “You have such large muscles!”
“I thank you, my dearest.” He said. “I have a personal trainer.......I confess I have purchased a rowing machine too.”
That was the moment when Miss Scott decided against being a simpleton all her life. She agreed to become Mrs Firth (who wouldn’t?) with the promise from him that he would get professional help to curb him of his lake-plunging episodes. After sealing the engagement with a kiss on the cheek (any more would be improper unfortunately), the couple went back into the ballroom to announce their special news to the throng!
Mr Firth stood dripping lake-water onto the marble floor.
“I say there!” He shouted to his ‘circle of friends’. “I have news!”
He looked proudly at Miss Scott and waited for silence in the room.
“Miss Scott has agreed to my proposal of marriage......we are to make plans this very night.” He announced.
The crowd of happy faces began clapping their approval, while Zoe came rushing over to her sister.
“Oh sister, I am so very happy for you.” She said taking her to one side. “But I thought you hated him, when did you change your mind?”
“I do believe it was when I saw the size of his tench!” Miss Scott told Zoe with a wink.
“Perhaps the large size of his fish rendered Mr Firth a little less repulsive, sister?”
“I do believe so, Zoe.” Miss Scott giggled.
“What are you two minxes discussing?” Mr Firth asked after overhearing her last words.
“You had a large, flapping, tench hanging from your breeches as you climbed out of the lake.”
Mr Firth nodded and smiled. “Tell me dearest heart, when will I be able to call you by your name? P.D. just is not enough for me?”
“Please Mr Firth do not get ahead of yourself! You will know it on our honeymoon and not would be entirely indecent!”
“As you wish, P.D.” He said.
“Where is Michelle?” Miss Scott asked her sister. “I want to tell her my news!”
“She is with Mr Ramsay in the kitchen...... I do believe he is showing her his prize winning Cumberland sausage.”
“I bet he is!” Mr Firth said suspiciously. “He is a rampant, old goat!”
On the anniversary of the first Christmas at Pemberley, P.D. Firth gave birth to twins.....a pigeon pair! They called the little girl ‘Bridget’ and the little boy ‘Darcy’. Mr Firth engaged a ‘Nanny McPhee’ to help his wife with the children. Michelle was last seen boarding a ship with her new, best friend, Paris Hilton, to do the ‘Grand Tour’ of the hotels of Europe. Zoe too, left the country with that rogue and scoundrel, Master Chris Woods from the Grange, to become missionaries on the hostile and godforsaken island of Guernsey. Mabel Firth married Captain Ivor Rectum of Pembrokeshire and moved to his estate, where they happily began breeding miniature pigs together!
Would you believe they all lived happily ever after? Well of course they did, because it isn’t real life is it? It is only my ranting and mad ideas, with the help of some dialogue from Jane Austen!!
P.D. Scott. xx

Thursday, 18 November 2010

November 2010- Part twenty-three

November 2010- Part twenty-three
I have to admit I am getting very disillusioned with this literary lark there seems to be absolutely nothing on the horizon. It appears the only thing in my life I have to look forward to in the far distant future, is the latest design of incontinence pads! Great! I look forward to that immensely! I’m not as depressed as that makes me sound but you try living with rejection after rejection! I do hate it when people call it feedback......its rejection, pure and simple! Rant over! You are safe to come out from behind the sofa.
At last I have found somebody to accompany me to my belly dancing classes. My deranged friend Zoe has volunteered to learn to ripple and thrust along side of me. It’s so exciting....I can’t wait. Until we go to our first lesson I have been viewing erotic belly dancing on You-Tube. Think I may model myself on Shakira’s dancing. I’ve just about managed to master ‘snake arms’ but it’s very hard to learn the hip movements! Watch out Colin Firth I will be in your favourite restaurant soon to pulsate my body over your couscous! Oh I say matron! I wonder where you buy tassels to stick on your nipples.....umm.
As well as being obsessed with Colin Firth I am a list obsessive too! I always make lists about everything! Does that make me a control freak? Routine and lists are my world......nothing spontaneous to upset the apple cart. My latest list is a Christmas list for Santa- Dear F. Christmas. I have been a good-ish girl and so I would like a mood changing lipstick, literary agent, pink-fluffy handcuffs (others have broken through rough play), grow your own boyfriend, Easter egg (should be in the shops by December), a new jar of chocolate body paint to replace the last (now rancid through lack of use), luminous green feather boa, a handbag, a satsuma and last but not least Colin Firth dressed as Mr Darcy!! I have a bucket list too, but I will not publish that because it concerns a certain actor, a leather horse whip and a bouncy castle!!!
It’s really chilly today here in London, it’s enough to make your ‘raspberry ripples’ stand to attention. I could seriously cut glass with them!
Christmas is well on the way. I can’t believe it is almost a year since I received my weird but wonderful Christmas pressie from ‘deranged friends’ Chris and Zoe. Not everyone can boast they were given Christmas tree seeds with reindeer poo to plant out in their garden. For 7 months I have watched and waited for any sign of life from under the soil. I hoped by now I would at least see one token shoot breaking through, but no. I may have to face the fact that my pipedream of decorating my own tree is not going to happen. I can’t wait to see what they buy me this year!
I can tell you something they definitely won’t be buying me...........a Merkin! I read an article about this exciting new gift idea! Anyone who is unfamiliar with the name will be astounded to learn that it is the name given to a pubic wig! Actors, actresses, prostitutes, arty-farty types or ladies just wanting to give their partners a surprise, buy them from specialist shops. It is said that the ‘Brazilian’ and the ‘Landing strip’ are out of fashion ‘down there’......the Merkin is the way to go! You can get them readily in all colours and shapes, from a red love heart to a National flag. How very patriotic! I’m not sure how our queen would feel about people flashing their Merkins along to ‘God Save the Queen’!
The guy next door has volunteered his services to be Father Christmas this year for a charity event. You see the real Santa will obviously be too busy checking on the reindeer and the elves, to be able to do it himself! Admittedly he won’t need the padding around his middle! The sad thing is he isn’t allowed to let the children sit on his knee to talk to him. People are worried he could be accused of ‘touching up’ the ankle biters! How sad is that? Next they’ll be testing the Easter bunny for rabies and frisking the Tooth fairy for sharp objects and explosive devices. Ridiculous!
Can I just put in a huge message of congratulations to my dear deranged friends Chris and Zoe. Chris got down on one knee and proposed (marriage). Fantastic news! Trust Prince William and Kate to spoil their thunder and announce their engagement too!
Oh well that completes another lot of my garrulous scribbling!
Take care until next time.
P.D. Scott. Xx
Warning : Next blog ‘Christmas at Pemberley!’

Thursday, 4 November 2010

DIARY OF A FRUSTRATED UNPUBLISHED AUTHOR! November 5th 2010- Part twenty-two

November 5th 2010- Part twenty-two
I have had an interesting few days since my last blog. I don’t know what on earth processed me but I was encouraged to go to a Halloween party. Yes I was enticed by friends to celebrate the gruesomeness of all evil ghouls and ghosties by drinking vast quantities of alcohol whilst apple bobbing! Unsurprisingly manic Michelle went dressed as a rather attractive pirate, sporting her favourite bejewelled eye patch and amazing red killer heels. Deranged friends Chris and Zoe were a little more imaginative with their costumes. Zoe donned a rather fetching ‘Tinkerbell’ outfit complete with UGG boots and a wire hanger with tinsel wrapped round it for a wand. Chris dressed as a demonic monster, his face painted with terrifying looking scars. I took the easy option and went as the ‘Bride of Dracula’. I rooted through the local charity shop for an awful looking, wedding dress and veil, and tipped ketchup down the front as blood. A pair of plastic fangs finished the look. I must remember another time to take the wretched fangs out before attempting to imbibe any alcohol as I became prone to dribbling and drooling (not a good look). The party itself was fun but uneventful which can’t be said for our journey home. Chris and his friend Leon walked ahead of us and it soon became apparent that the volume of alcohol they had consumed was looking for an urgent way out! The two guys decided they would slink away into an alley to have a pee! Unluckily for them two policemen happened to follow them into the darkness wondering what on earth they were up to. Chris and his friend managed to convince the coppers that they were doing nothing more than having a piddle. This was not a good idea as they were both given an on the spot fine for urinating in a public place. Michelle, Zoe and I nearly wet ourselves laughing when they came back to us red faced telling us they had been charged with outraging public decency. It was hysterical! The next day I was still amused by the whole situation and looked it up on the internet as I had no idea it was illegal to pee in a public place. Apparently in England it is legal for a male to urinate in public, as long as it is on the rear wheel of his motor car and his right hand is on the vehicle! I kid you not, that is what it said! A pregnant woman can legally wee in public anywhere and rumour has it that she is even allowed to wee in a policeman’s helmet! How mad is that? I just love the old English laws!
I have been very unproductive of late with my literary nightmare. Apart from entering another writing competition I have done little else to forward my profile. I still await news from an agent about my screenplay but I am ashamed to admit I have not sent off my novel to the publishers. I have no excuse to rely on I am just a lazy hound. This cold weather makes me want to curl up and watch Firth films.
My golf lessons have been abandoned also. It is too wet and miserable to walk about striking a ball into holes! May take it up again next year when the weather is less monsoon-like.
I haven’t given up the idea of belly dancing though. I’m trying to entice a friend (anyone would do) to go along with me to shake their bits to the music. Why am I the only person who thinks it’s a good plan? On an obscure T.V. channel there used to be a show which gave you belly dancing lessons each morning. I have since changed my T.V. provider and lost the channel completely so I can’t even learn from home. I am gutted!
My poor feline is in a state of nervous terror as Bonfire night draws ever closer. She hides behind the sofa as the noisy fireworks go off in the evenings. She particularly despises the loud bangs and the wizzy ones. It wouldn’t be so bad if people kept to one night only but it seems to be any excuse to let them off now. My cat’s ticker won’t take much more she is 14 yrs old now!
I am in desperate need of Dr Who’s Tardis! I wish I could leap in and go back in time to when ladies were ladies and men were men, the Edwardian days, to be precise. I have found myself in need of a ladies maid to dress me in the mornings. Lately on the odd occasion I have been to the town with my jumper inside out, or my dress tucked in my knickers, or with odd socks. So I feel I must have someone to dress me properly! Also I wouldn’t be against a bit of bodice ripping either!! Right let’s move on from my fantasies before you think I am a woman with loose morals. While I was on a jaunt to town, probably dressed badly, I espied a luminous yellow condom on the pavement outside my house. I was agog and aghast! Surely such smutty ‘goings on’ doesn’t happen in my stylish street? What is the neighbourhood coming to? Tut-tut! This wouldn’t happen in Chiswick.

Anyway peeps, enough rants & ravings for this time.
See you next time.
P.D. Scott xx

Wednesday, 20 October 2010

October 22nd 2010- Part twenty-one

October 22nd 2010- Part twenty-one

First I would like to thank Mr Darcy for stepping in at the last minute to write my blog whilst I was away in Bath taking the waters. It was most kind of him and I will be forever in his debt. He has a very healthy appetite and devoured all of my tins of Spaghetti Hoops. He also delighted in the taste of Turkey Twizzlers but is unsure if turkeys do indeed have twizzlers! Unusually there has been a run on my laundry starch too.....heaven only knows what has happened to that! Mr Darcy has left a pair of his black leather trim suspenders. He gets so cross when I persist in twanging them! He is much like a curmudgeon and threatens me constantly with his horse whip! Umm nice! The dear fellow is travelling into the depths of London to visit his much admired friends. Mr Darcy often tells me that he is very popular with the fashionable ladies and I can validate that. He doesn’t tell me to impress, but he says and I quote “It is merely the facts.”
Oh alas, woe is me! I have heard from Channel 4 about my screenplay at last. They sent a very helpful, if upsetting letter, pointing me in a different direction. Again I have been told that they don’t accept unsolicited scripts, nor do they make their own programmes. So I have sent my script off AGAIN to a literary agent who deals with scripts and screenplays. I can’t help thinking this is a pointless task, it feels like the last chance saloon somehow. You can’t knock me for trying though. A lot of people say I’m trying, but that’s something completely different!! I have also been in touch with a publisher who deals with authors without the need of those blasted literary agents. So I will be submitting my books to them!
On a recent expedition to the local super market to replenish my larder with Spaghetti Hoops, I espied yet another sort of fish for my culinary delight. Not only do they have my favourite Colin (Pollock) for me to nibble on, they have another called Pouting! Can you believe it? It is a common fish from around the British coastline. I bet Victoria Beckham eats it all the time to achieve her magnificent pout! I’ve tried pouting in front of the mirror to make me look alluring and sexy but to be honest I just look stupid!
Talking about fish, have you seen the new and unusual fish pedicure? You lower your feet into a tank of around 150 Garra fish. They have no teeth and nibble away at dead skin using suction-shaped mouths leaving new skin underneath untouched. The carp which originate from Turkey have been used in the Far East to treat skin complaints such as eczema and psoriasis. I think I’d be happy to give it a go if it isn’t too expensive.......on the other hand maybe I could buy a couple of piranhas, they could probably do the job in half the time!!!
I have been having a major ponder! Should I have my first tattoo done or another piercing? I only have my ears pierced at the moment (very normal) but should I get my nipples done too? Could come in very handy in later life! Simply thread string through the nipple rings and then just hoist them over your shoulders to achieve that pert look again. Umm sorted! Sorry to deranged friend Chris, he hates it when I mention nipples. (He leads a sheltered life)!!
On the thought of updating my profile I am seriously thinking about having belly dancing lessons. When fully trained and ready to ripple and thrust I could apply for a position at Colin Firth’s favourite Lebanese restaurant. I could shake my bits over his main course with allurement! There is a class not too far away from me in Wembley. I like that idea very much. Must invest in chiffon skirts and hip scarves immediately!
I am off to my 2nd golf lesson soon with my hunky instructor Rob. He is so strict with me and will not let me wear heels of any sort whilst on the golf course. Neither does he think my knee high boots and mini skirt are suitable attire! Rob or Robsey, as I like to call him, lent me a glove to protect my delicate hand against blisters while I was hacking about with the club (not stick as I thought it was called). He only gave me one glove. Poor guy is obviously not rich enough for two! I felt like Michael Jackson and was not averse to moon walking round the links! Sir was not amused! Spoil sport. I just love to thrash about in the sandpit (bunker Robsey calls it). I can see myself being an expert on it very soon! Watch out Tiger Woods, I know this is a golfer and not the tiger advertising Kellogs Frosties!
See you next time.
“FORE!” (A golf term which means, ‘mind your bloody head,
mad person’s ball coming through’
P.D. Scott xxx

Wednesday, 6 October 2010


October 2010- Part twenty
Allow me first to introduce myself to you all. My name is Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley, Derbyshire. I have offered my services to Miss Scott as she is away taking the waters in Bath for her health. I have not the smallest intention of doing this on a regular basis but when Miss Scott informed me that her mind was like a tumble-drier full of monkeys I knew she needed my assistance. My fashionable friend Miss Kate Moss, suggested I send Miss Scott with much haste in my own carriage, to the confines of the Spa. It is I believe, conducive to your health if you drink 8 pints of water per day from the Pump Room. My thoughts are with her and I hope Miss Scott’s fine eyes will be brightened by the exercise and water.
Forgive me, but I am not comfortable with this medium of writing. I am much at home with a quill but I will do my best. I find it almost as difficult to handle this laptop as I do my PlayStation 3, but I have made excellent progress with that! As you can imagine the words of Twitter and Facebook are alien to me, but one must always be open to new ideas. I have had the opportunity to try a ‘dance-mat’ and although the style of movement is not exactly what I am used to, I think I am excelling at it immensely.
I have become alarmed at some of the indescribable vistas that come onto the screen of the laptop. I must inform you that wayward ladies in their ‘scanties’ are available to view. I am shocked, at this state of affairs!
I was vexed to find that Mr Wickham, that abominable gutter-snipe has been a constant visitor to Miss Scott’s abode. Indeed I fear this could be the very reason for her failing health. If he calls again when I am attending her pussy I will not be amused. The feline is quite ill favoured, and I am sure will not want to witness a duel in the grounds!
Another person I have found spending much of his time in the grounds is indeed of questionable character. He has assured me he is a gardener of unrivalled quality. He is a floppy haired gentleman, and I use that term loosely, as he spends too many hours in the shrubbery tending the plants for my liking. I have told him to ‘Sod Off’ but alas to no avail, he says he must make sure Miss Scott’s bush is neatly trimmed at all times.
Miss Scott’s residence is a charming house. ‘Scott Towers’ is not on the same grand scale of Pemberley of course but it very pleasing to behold. It does lack family portraits and not one of Miss Scott or her friends! Miss Scott has but one likeness of a roguish gentleman on the wall in the kitchen. On the front it is written- Colin Firth Unofficial Calendar. It is most unsettling to watch the eyes of this fellow following you about the room as you are preparing your Faggots!
There is a large lake in the grounds, containing many carp and trout, excellent for fishing if that is your bent. I, on the other hand prefer to swim in the lake.....indeed I cannot avert myself from plunging in at every given opportunity. I take pleasure in walking along with a dripping, white shirt, clinging to my every manly contour. There must be something to cure me of this trait......leeches perhaps? Mr Bingley my good friend; is looking to find someone to advise me on my ill; it may mean an extensive voyage to far off shores.
I am much aggrieved to find Miss Scott has been slightly lax with her delivery man. She has made an unpardonable error of allowing him to place his silver-tops, creamy yoghurt and ‘Stinking Bishop’ (a rather rancid smelling cheese that smells like it was scraped from Satan’s navel) on the doorstep in full view of all her neighbours. Clearly he should be aware that he must bring them to the tradesmen’s entrance. I will be reprimanding him in the first instance!
While I am at home, residing on my Pemberley estate I have little of consequence to worry me. I have an efficient housekeeper who arranges everything most admirably for my convenience. So as you can appreciate I was at my wit’s end whilst trying to wash my own breeches yesterday. I should not have tampered with them had I not found frogspawn in the groin area from a recent lake-plunging episode. I fear I may have added too much starch to them, as now when I walk there appears to be a loud crackling noise. I confess the entire situation has made me much like a bear with a wicked temper.
Miss Scott still awaits news concerning her screenplay. I am assured she will tell you as soon as she hears anything of importance. She is in a state of uncertainty and rarely sleeps soundly.....perhaps I should offer to massage her back?
I entertain high hopes that Miss Scott will soon be recovered enough to write her next essay. But if she is still indisposed I hope you would not find it too insufferable to bear my drivel again next time. Under my peculiar sort of dry, blunt manner, I hope you know I have the warmest of hearts.
I know now how insufficient all my pretentions were to amuse people worthy of being amused and for this I apologise most profoundly.
I must away now, as I have an urgent hankering for Turkey Twizzlers with Spaghetti Hoops!
Good tidings to you all.
Fitzwilliam Darcy

Sunday, 26 September 2010

September 28th 2010- Part nineteen. Postcard from Menorca

September 28th 2010- Part nineteen. Postcard from Menorca
Hello, I’m back, like the proverbial bad penny.
Good news- I didn’t get nibbled by any fiendish mosquitoes! Hooray! Bad news- I didn’t get nibbled by anything of human form either! Boo!
The weather in Menorca was changeable to say the least, there were storms, wind; rain and unfortunately the sun spent a lot of time hiding, but on the plus side I do have some white bits! I had the most amazing room. When I threw open the balcony door I literally gasped with delight at the view. On one side was the deep navy blue sea complete with lighthouse, then directly below were the lush grounds with two swimming pools. Over on the right was the uber-expensive marina where I could frequently be found shouting ‘Hello sailor!’ to anyone who’d listen. After dark the vista would change, the boats seemed to bob up and down on the almost black millstone water, casting different coloured lights like Royal gems of India. One down side to the room occurred after I’d had a couple of pitchers of sangria. When comatose with alcohol lying prostrate on my bed, my eyes became strangely drawn to a shape in the plaster on the ceiling. I convinced myself there was a head of a yeti up there and he had the desire to devour me. Terrifying!!
On the first evening, whilst dining in the restaurant the manager came up to me to shake my hand. Bless his little cotton socks, he actually remembered me from my previous visit. Is that a good thing do you think? Or had I disgraced myself so horribly he couldn’t fail to recall my naughtiness. Not sure if it was anything to do with my hazy memories of dancing with ‘Dizzy the Dolphin’. I hasten to add ‘Dizzy’ was a holiday rep in a zip-up suit. Any rumours of further ‘goings on’ with the said dolphin are all diabolical lies! Sadly the rep was nowhere to be seen this time. I hope I didn’t put him off repping! Not everyone is as ‘difficult’ as I am........sorry. Perhaps his employers didn’t appreciate his sudden appearance in the pages of the Sunday papers. This year the head of the entertainment team was Antonio and he was very amusing. He spent the entire time encouraging everyone to twist his nipples, spank his bottom whilst calling his name (I resisted the urge)! Ha-ha.
I hate to admit it, but what started out as such a good idea turned out to be a bit of a holiday nightmare. I was a little tipsy as I walked towards a huge mechanical rodeo bull. I’m only 5ft 2in so I wondered with mounting fear how I was going to get up onto the beast. I clambered up as stylishly and elegantly as possible, after all you never know when your knight in shining armour is going to pass your way. I sat astride the brutish animal, wrapping my eager thighs around tightly, feeling strangely confident............yes I was actually going to do it! That was the last thought I had before the man proceeded to turn the machine on. Then it was scarcely 2 minutes before I came crashing down headfirst onto the dirty floor. How embarrassed was I? I picked myself up and hobbled away from the horrible animal rubbing my buttocks as I went (in the most dignified and chic manner I could muster). I looked around......nobody appeared to have noticed my unfortunate misdemeanour. I can assure you I won’t be repeating my alcohol induced adventure in the future. Two Euros was not well spent!!!
I was sorely disappointed to find no word of my screenplay, short story or novel. I was imagining arriving home to thousands of acceptance letters (I have a vivid imagination). I’m guessing if it was good news I would have heard something by now. So once again I feel like giving up and retreating into a dark corner with my tail between my legs.......but I have 3 months left of my year to make my dreams happen, so I must plod on.
I can’t believe it is only September and some shops have started decorating them for Christmas already! It sure makes you forget your holiday fast, from sun-cream to sparkly tinsel in precisely one week.
The next blog will be written by a guest blogger! No it isn’t Colin Firth although he would be more than welcome to do it, if he so wishes. Anyone speaking to him in the not too distant future could indeed mention it!

Be good and take care, people.
P.D. Scott x
(With bruised bum cheeks!)