Was driving home from getting my booster last night, and Miriam Margoleys (sp) was on 5Live. Always funny, if not a little forced with the outrageous stuff, she was talking about the time she spent in the US with a family of Mid-West Christian Trump supporters. She was at pains to say what incredibly nice, thoughtful, generous people they were - till it came to Trump. He could do no wrong, and even when faced with irrefutable facts and logic about Trump's lies and misdemeanours, they simply, like religious types reaching for the miracle/God's will switch, said it was the mainstream media, Deep State or Global Elite. Their logic, like listening to Anjem Choudray rattle on about Islam always being right even when it's wrong, is as circular as Boris's waistline. It's sort of like The Life Brian, but instead of Brian Cohen denying he's the messiah, he winks at the Jordain People's Front and says "Yeah, I'm the messiah alright. Now give me your money".
The Bible is bunkum coz I was born on 25 Dec and can only turn water into piss not wine. As a side note my dad was first baby to be born in Liverpool in 1937.
I agree,we lived with my gran in Edge hill until I was 7 and I can tell you she was a formidable women,took **** from no-one.
Mine was the same. Grans of that era were tough cookies. My dad who is a hard bugger was like a poodle in front of her
Ah, you share a birthday with my father. He can turn water into wine though... Takes him a few years and adding fruit, but he's done it a few times.
My Irish granny and my Scottish granddad lived in Scotty Rd till the late 20's, then moved to Norris Green. She was an organiser for the Communist Party, he was a right-wing Conservative who joined the National Front in his 70's. My gran would help anyone of her neighbours with all of her time and effort, and sometimes money: granddad was a skinflint and was a thin, but educated and erudite version of Saxton on GC. Really funny though, truth be told.
My paternal grandad got blown up in the trenches at Ypres - his wife remarried and lived to be a few days short of 100. This is apropos of nothing really, just thought I might as well join in.
We used to spend Boxing Day there. She was a fabulous cook, but as soon as dinner was over and we'd got our prezzies, we wanted to get out before he put the telly on and ranted at everything that happened in the world as he consumed the single malt my dad would get him each year (while continuously bemoaning that my dad never got him the really, really expensive one that he said a good son would buy for his Scottish father).
