recycling | Jana| West Berkshire Villagers
J.Karst Journey Through Recycling in West Berkshire
‘Welcome to the new edition of this Guest Blog. I am a full-time working mum of 2 boys and a published novelist of ‘The Ninth Cross’ by my pen name J. Karst. I get involved in trying that little bit I can in saving the environment for the future generations.’
This cold spell sent me into hibernation. At least that’s the excuse for raiding the pantry and eating all the chocolate. Maybe a poor excuse but I get the last laugh when the Ice Age comes back, and I survive due to a very sufficient blubber reserve.
Our water bud filled with plenty of fresh rainwater so my plants will be well chuffed. They do prefer the rainwater rather than a tap water. Somehow a dash of mosquito poop, daphnia and other little critters add to the flavour my plants prefer. I’m not complaining about the little critters, just the mosquitoes. The females seem to emerge very thirsty and my husband wakes up cover in red pimples and swollen with an allergic reaction to mosquito saliva.
Somehow, the mosquito prefers the mouth-watering Englishman rather than an Eastern European. This theory has been proven on many occasions when we are visiting my family in Czech. As soon as the dusk sets the whole mosquito population gathers around my husband for a feast of a lifetime. I was going to patent an English bloke as an efficient mosquito repellent but apparently it wouldn’t be moral neither ethical.
From the above statement you can gather that this weather brought on my philosophical thinking. I was shocked of the horrible reactions some people had about the Royal Family. For me they are the epitome of how to conduct itself morally and ethically. I am not including the black sheep of their family into this equation. But who hasn’t got that one family member they deny existence of and don’t invite them to a specific family gathering?
I can hear you saying ‘why is she defending the Royals? They can do what they like.’ Well you’re wrong because I can concretely tell you that the queen can’t let one rip after a good meal. She can’t fish out the pesky knickers which decided to be eaten by her backside and slice her each step! She can’t shout out to the crowds ‘Sorry guys but the snake is nearly out of the cave, give me a second I need to run to the bog…it must have been the curry last night’.
Seriously the Queen works nonstop! In her age, she still works rather than sunbathe on a beach far away from England filled with young masculine males. She can’t pretend to trip over one of them and feel his bicep with words ‘I lost my glasses’. No, the poor woman, must stand in a wind and rain, smile, and wave at everyone when she just wants to put on some PJs, binge on food whilst watching the RuPaul Drag race.
To give you more of an eye opener, imagine that you just woke up from ‘one drink’ with the neighbour, realising that the one glass ended up being four bottles. With regret, you must get to work but realise that you run out of migraine pain killers. Without hesitation you run to your local Coop without realising that you fell asleep in your child’s homework and most of the glitter glue stuck your hair into a hedgehog punk style. Though the bunny slipper seen their best, who would care about the inappropriate footwear and the fact that the family dog gnawed off the ears. You pat the pocket of what used to be a white dressing gown covering your tiger pyjamas and realise that you left the payment card at home. Thankfully the shop keeper takes a pity on you and allows you to pay for it later.
Now imagine the opposite of when our Royal Kate walk out of her home with only one single pubic hair out of a line. That would be a huge scandal all over the global news stating that she cannot be a good mother because she can’t take care of herself! Not to mention some clever marketing campaigner creaming of the by turning it into a fabulous advertising campaign – ‘If Kate used the epiblast, the pube would be the thing of the past’.
No seriously, I have nothing but an admiration for the family. I respect them as they are the epitome of moral code of social behaviour and I wouldn’t have swapped with them for all the money in the world. They are in a golden cage, but it’s a cage, nonetheless.
I am happy to be me, where I can prance about in a bad hairdo, smudged mascara, and frog spawn in my underpants…
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