~Trifledreamz~

The "I'll miss seeing you around, darlin" award.....Ruby Allen.

The "You're a psychotic, scheming bitch but i wouldn't have you any other way, hunny" award.....Tracy Barlow.

The "I'm glad to see the back the old git" award.....Tom King.

The "I'm glad to see the back of the old cow" award.....Pauline Fowler.

The "Bloke i'd like to be for a day" award.....Sean Slater.

The "Bloke i'm like for the other 364 days" award.....Minty.

The "I'd love to pull you while you pull my pint" award.....Chastity Dingle.

The "You're pretty cute but why doesn't anyone else fancy you?" award.....Preeti Choraria.

The "Are you bloody thick or what, mate, giving up Katy for Jo?" award.....Andy Sugden.

The "You jammy bleeder, not content with Tanya you have Stacey too!" award.....Max Branning.

The "Three wise monkeys...yeah, right!" award.....The King Brothers.

The "Loveable, smelly, drunken old git" award.....Shadrach Dingle.

The "Quite witty but sour-faced, old hag" award.....Blanche Hunt.

The "Simply adorable but gobby little trollop" award.....Stacey Slater.

The "Pleased to meet you, mate, you're cool" award.....Eli Dingle.

The "Don't f*** with Tracy Barlow" award.....Charlie Stubbs.

The "Sexy little, dark-haired pixie" award.....Delilah Dingle.

The "They've got to bring me back one day, just for Seany's sake" award.....Kim Tate.

The "By far the sexiest ever presenter of a Soap Award Ceremony" award.....Fern Britton.

Above him was a typically slushy love-heart, like the sort kids carve into trees, only this one was engraved with a foul and most vile name, or rather the name of a foul and most vile person.

Casting your eyes further up, you behold the snarling head of a black panther, it may well have been the Pink Panther but circumstances made him black and menacing instead of cute and funny.

At the top, you spy a red rose, similar to the one you'll see on Paul Stanley's shoulder...if you don't know who he is then you really ought to be ashamed of yourself. He was the Starchild.

Opposite the red rose is a pale green one, super-imposed over a crucifix-style tombstone, a morbid and gothic image of doom for us to dwell upon before facing the Eye of Horus, that powerful and enigmatic symbol from ancient Egypt, omnipresent along the length of the mighty Nile.

We then find yet another rose, this one thorny and painful as its stem spears through a broken heart, the finer feelings of adoration crucified by the very image of love itself. To view it is to empathise with the emotions that spawned it.

Finally, we meet a totally naked she-devil, horns protruding through her flowing curls, demonic wings beating the air...she emerges from a skull split-in-two, hellish flames licking her thighs as she rises to terrify, torture and seduce.

Her fruit was reputed to be the juiciest and firmest in all England, far too good to be overlooked by the handsome dandies of the day, i'm sure, especially at only sixpence a taste.

How my mouth waters at the idea of strolling through olde London town to be greeted by Nell's cheeky smile, her warm charm and an inviting cry to come and taste her wares.

A small gasp escapes her pretty, ruby lips as a stray orange rolls from her stall onto the pavement and she quickly stoops to retrieve the errant citrus, revealing a glimpse of her petticoats, unaware that my steps have now brought me immediately behind her welcoming rump.

The woman was a natural for making one feel fruity.

What follows next was never recorded amongst the yellowing pages of history and i am too much of a gentleman to divulge what occurred between us, suffice to say that young Nell and i quickly became very closely aquainted and i discovered for myself exactly why she was such a firm favourite with the King.

I have to conceed that she also became a fond favourite in my own heart and to this very day, my thoughts often return to her ripe attractions when i cast my eyes upon an orange or a lemon.

So defeated and bruised was i that i believed the sun would never again cast its warm glow over my broken heart.

Therefore, imagine my total disbelief when wandering cold and alone, miles from my home, i called into a deserted chip shop and beheld my own, dear Fanny slouched like a forsaken sack of potatoes behind the counter.

My mouth was dry and speechless as my heart thumped madly in my breast, simply gazing upon her vulgar splendour after all these years was enough to reduce me to a palpitating wreck of a man.

She glanced my way, absent-mindedly tugging her thong from the crack of her ample backside before addressing me: Yes love, you want summink?

In that instant the soul-destroying realisation hit me that Fanny didn't even remember me, i was a mere stranger to her now. I mumbled my order and cast my sorrowful eyes to the floor, wishing that it would open up and devour me.

Carelessly, she cast my chips into the greasy paper and handled my saveloy very roughly, (not for the first time in her life) before drenching them in salt and vinegar.

The main seafront road outside was flooded with revving motorcycles, many of them Harley-Davidsons, literally hundreds of them sweeping by...glorious, shiny, metal steeds.

It was an amazing spectacle which lasted for half-an-hour or so, big hairy bikers cruising by with American flags flying, tongues waggling, sunglasses and headlights dazzling in the bright sunshine. The noise generated by all those throbbing engines was thunderous and we joined the onlooking crowd in our admiration.

Removing her crash helmet, her blonde hair fell about her shoulders and her pretty face momentarily glanced in my direction, i'm pretty certain that i was standing open-mouthed at her stunning appearance as Sharon remarked that the biker girl would surely never lack male attention.

What a fantastic picture she'd make for my blog! i thought aloud, watching the vision disappear into the crowd somewhere, going for a pit-stop i presume, before returning minutes later and mounting her bike again, zooming off into the sultry afternoon.

Yes, i should have asked her to pose for a photo, my wife wouldn't have minded at all and it really would have been a brilliant pic, but when it came to the crunch, i was too shy and felt silly to even consider making the request.

We went along the coast to Weymouth, instantly finding it the kind of place that within minutes of arrival, you resolve to visit again and again. We travelled by train thus avoiding plenty of traffic-related stress and throughout our stay were blessed by some gorgeous weather which was more reminiscent of mid-July than May.

Savouring every minute of each others company, we wandered the heavenly, sandy beach, the shops, the promenade, quickly noticing that the town has an air of contentment about it, the atmosphere was so calming and laid-back, many couples like ourselves drifted along the streets hand-in-hand as if the sea breezes carried a secret charm within them.

We ate very well while we were there too, dining at various restaurants which in turn provided us with lip-smacking fish'n'chips, deliciously spicy Indian cuisine, traditional English breakfasts and on saturday evening, a sumptuous sirloin steak with all the trimmings...so much that we couldn't even contemplate having a dessert.

We wiled away an hour or two together in the penny arcades, lingered in shops selling crystals, ornaments and figurines, there were literally hundreds of Betty Boop statuettes, i wanted to buy them all but somehow resisted the temptation, so delightful were they all...and um...we also spent a pretty penny in The Private Shop.

Last year i posted a list of ten things that i'd like to do before i die, one of them being to kiss a witch at midnight in a moonlit woods. This would be a fantasy and dream come true if it ever happened, but why settle for just one beautiful sorceress when i can have a trio of them?

I may be getting a little greedy here but if it is my dream then why shouldn't i?

If i could be Mr Van Horne for a while, i could leisurely stuff myself with gorgeous, sweet cherries while i lazed idly in the hypnotic company of a pretty blonde, a simmering redhead and an alluring brunette...each superbly played in the movie by Michelle Pfeiffer, Susan Sarandon and Cher respectively.

Not content with seducing any one of the three witches, he made merry with all of them before finally getting his come-uppance. My feeling is that he blew what was an idyllic situation by underestimating the ladies and not treating them quite as well as he might, an error which i'd be sure to avoid if ever i did find myself in his shoes.

So there you are, get your cauldrons bubbling, ladies, cast a spell or two in my direction while i sharpen up my two-pronged fork for your pleasure, casting an impish grin at you while i summon up a legion of goblins to prepare you for ravishing...let the demonic sparks start to fly.

My vote would have been an unpatriotic one, if i'd voted at all, the Russian version of Girls Aloud -Serebro- being by far the best thing on offer in my humble opinion although i did quite enjoy the Bulgarian couple with their drums and enigmatic wailing and the girl near the end whose jeans were hitched about six inches too low for common decency, bless her.

The girl who presented Armenia's voting was absolutely stunning and i'd rather spend an evening watching her next time as opposed to that annoying creature in the pink dress that flitted amongst the bemused backstage contestants.

Block-voting where each nation gives points to their immediate neighbours really seems to get up some folks noses but it only adds to the silliness of the occasion for me...

I wistfully remember the golden days when we ruled Eurovision with the likes of Bucks Fizz, those 80's giants that taught the world how to rip off a girls skirt while singing something catchy.

Now that's real style for you.

Thankfully, Georgia's frightening, silver hybrid of Timmy Mallet and Sue Pollard was beaten into second place by Serbia's Lou Costello lookey-likey while the U.K were pitiful, as expected, a kind of fifth-rate Steps tribute band who neither looked nor sounded remotely good, following the spirit of the national football team by amazing with their awfulness when reaching an international competition.
 
Today, Youtube is full of Serebro, Elena, Marina and Olga, those gorgeous Russian beauties who really should have won last night, if there's been the slightest bit of justice left in the world today. I went to bed almost fuming but consoled myself in a plate of Austrian smoked cheese with garlic & herb crackers.

However, now that i was here in Tudor England, i wasn't entirely sure if i was most besotted with Katherine of Aragon or Anne Boleyn, both having much to recommend themselves to my discerning attention, Katherine's sultry Spanish warmth and passion against Anne's sophisticated wicked ways and sharp wit.

They were by far the finest of Henry's six wives, the others failing to ignite a spark of passion in even my over-heated and forever writhing, filth-ridden imagination.

Making my mind up to favour Anne, who i'd heard had picked up quite an array of tricks in her time as a young lady at the French court, i crept through the passageways of the Palace and skulked into her private chamber like a thief in the night.

Becoming aquainted with such a notorious woman as herself was truly a pleasure, i can tell you without the slightest reserve.

While her belligerent and portly sire swilled his way through a vast banquet in the halls below, quaffing gallon after gallon of mead, she was bestowing upon me countless secret delights and pleasures.

She later became known as Anne of a Thousand Days but after my experiences of her that wonderfully exhilarating evening in merry olde England, i concluded that a thousand nights with this ravenous beauty would have surely killed me stone dead.

Dressed in nothing but my irresistably saucy French Maids outfit, i'll dust your shelves, scrub your floors on my hands and knees, polish your prized assets and attend to everything that a girl could want attending to.

Are your pillows sagging and jaded? Don't worry because i'll soon have them looking pert and perky again!

As i bend over to arrange the fruit bowl, i won't be the only one to exclaim ooh, what a gorgeous pear.

Like any good home service, i'm very discreet and shall never reveal to any third parties whatever may or may not happen on the rug in the lounge, the hall carpet or the up against wardrobe.

You'll find your complete satisfaction gratified for such a modest sum that you'll wonder why you didn't call me sooner.

Should you feel that i warrant a tip of some kind, then you are perfectly free to reward my endevours in whatever fashion seems most appropriate but the smile on your face wil be more than enough to make my journey worthwhile.

They gazed impassively upon my helplessness, each one dressed in fine black silks with dark eyes set in delicate features framed by glossy jet-black hair. I was now the captive of The Secret Order of Lotus Blossoms.

I tried to speak to them and beg for mercy but the only response i received were sharply spoken words in an incomprehensible tongue and a lash or two with a thin, bamboo cane.

I heard a tiny tinkling bell far off, the sound coming to me on the warm sea breeze, then an exquisite young maiden appeared holding a dish of exotic delicacies, the others parting to allow her to kneel quietly by my side.

She hand-fed me numerous treats and whispered that this was a remote place unkown to most travellers and that i would be held here as their plaything, only being given sustenance provided that i made myself useful and agreeable to them.

If i incurred their displeasure, the bamboo would sting my flesh.

Finshing my meal with a cool, sweet fruit drink, the maiden signalled to the nearest of my guards and nodded with a beaming smile. She then silently disrobed, her eyes fixed upon mine as she stood above my still-bound figure...

My head was swimming, my heart thumping in my chest, then i heard shouts and screams...i must have blacked-out because the next thing i recall, i was on a bunk aboard a ship being watched over by the ships captain and some of his crew.

Imagine awaking this morning with a particularly rampant case of morning glory and seeing it remain undiminished until the year 2014. Would you consider this a blessing or a curse, would it be Heaven or Hell?

The man was forced to wear a knee-length coat even in the warmest weather to preserve his dignity, he went through numerous operations only to see his manhood still standing strong and proud, no matter what.

What a fantastic ice-breaker at parties, what a wonderful way to attract attention and inspire conversation, what a sure-fire way to make new friends.

Men who spend a fortune on viagra because they have the exact opposite problem will be cursing his name, wishing that they didn't know what it meant to try and put a marshmallow in a money box.

As you may perhaps guess, his loyal girlfriend stood by his side throughout the terrible ordeal, in fact, only one thing stood more loyally than her. She doesn't have the usual feminine complaints to her partner about splashes of urine on the toilet seat...although the bathroom ceiling is now in quite an awful state.

The poor man must have felt like a walking advertisement for Blackpool Rock.

Full-figured, graceful, beautiful...and frustrated, the Queen of France, Marie Antoinette.

Her regal charms would, this evening, be mine alone, King Louis XVI was occupied elsewhere but even had he been present, his peu de problème would curtail any entertainment for his wife, just like it did on most nights.

Her usual suitors were busy flirting with young Countesses and Ladies in Waiting, the masked ball being by now in full swing while the Queen awaited my most honourable attendance.

By this time, her reputation for sexual scandal and wild living was common knowledge at Court, playing hostess to dubious characters such as myself had sullied her fine name but if such a well-bred lady as herself required a playmate for her vices then i would be too polite and genteel to refuse.

Upon catching her eye, my soul was bewildered by her divine accent and soft voice as she smiled briefly and whispered Bonsoir, vous affinez le spécimen du boeuf Anglais magnifique.

I bowed courteously and returned her flashing smile before taking her lace-gloved hand and gallantly bestowing the lightest kiss upon it.

Est-ce que c'est un pistolet dans votre poche ou êtes-vous heureux de me voir?

I was already entranced, her slave for the evening, come what may.