I am

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Spartacus, Jesus.

One of the most profound things that happened while I was enjoying my wonderful Paris weekend, was the discovery that I am Lady Jesus.  Who knew?  This revelation happened quite by chance while my host and I were chatting about life, love and the wider world in a ‘interesting’ fusion café that served chicken curry spaghetti, on the Sunday afternoon (coincidence?  I think not) before I returned to Barcelona.  Take note.

Also doubles as wishing star

Also doubles as wishing star

I was explaining a little about my background; that I was born in Australia, in the outback, in a cattle shed, surrounded by bovine, it was the 70s 80s, so it was still very primitive and poor, my parents had travelled many miles to arrive there, they were some of the ’10 Pound Poms’ who travelled from Britain on Government sponsored tickets.  The night sky was also particularly impressive this night and you could see the prominent star of the Piscis Austrinus constellation perfectly clearly.  And after the birth there were wise men (doctors probably, but very wise doctors)….. BAM!  This story had been recounted by my parents time and time again and I had never, ever made the connection.  If it had not been for the hot Frenchie’s razor-sharp observational skills, and thank God (Dad) he’s so smart, I’d still be none-the-wiser and would still be mooching about the planet in the manner of a mere mortal without knowledge of this specialness.  Also, this would offer up a reasonable and obvious explanation as to why I possess the capacity to do brain magic.  Duh……. Of course, now it all makes  sense.

So, you’ll understand why, when I heard that the hideous and odious Katie Hopkins had claimed this week that she is like Jesus, I was more than a little upset, because she is a really hateful pig and nothing at all like me.

Katie Hopkins, I put this to you:

Were you born in a poor, primitive place? – NO

Were you born in a barn in said poor, primitive place? – NO

Were there cows at your birth (or any other farmyard creatures)?  Chinchillas and/or thoroughbred ponies do not count. – NO

Were there wise men post birth? – POSSIBLY.  But were they were wearing cork hats – NO

Can you do brain magic? – NO

I rest my case.  You are full of sh*t Katie, but I forgive you (because that’s my job).  Bless you.

*I promise to the whole, wide world to do good things with my Jesus-ness and brain magic.

My friend fell in love

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with a cowboy and moved to Namibia.  A trekking holiday last year saw her fall in love under stars of the African sky and now, a year later, she’s packed up her old life, moved continents and started again, working and living on a farm, surrounded by wildlife and new love.  (TRUE story).

So………. I wonder who on Earth in Namibia might be looking at my pages today?  HHHhhhmmmmm –  strokes chin.

Welcome Namibia!  Nice to see you here reading The Secret Diary of Anne Pank, Miss N.

Anne

xx

Thought for the day

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*I wonder if the Bitch Killers of Rue de Meaux do a sideline in arsehole killing? Just a question.

Move along now, nothing to see here……

*by reading this you might all be called up as witnesses in any future court case that may happen.  So, with that in mind:

You know nothing

You saw nothing

You heard nothing

You say nothing

(your cheques are in the post)

Oh, I’m such a silly

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billy!  What was I thinking???

When I was chatting about the types that find me attractive now, old men, tramps and spitty people, you remember, I forgot to mention one key demographic from my observations.  STARK RAVING LUNATICS WITH A MENTAL AGE OF 14!!!!!!  Living out a teeny tiny soap opera inside their stupid – arse brains.  (Doesn’t ‘stupid-ass’ sound better when you pronounce it ‘arse’, with a rounded vowel and the r?  So much more pompous).

Stop.  NOW.  Before I lose my temper and tear you to shreds.

NB.  Metaphorically speaking, with words.  Because although I think I’m quite strong for a little person, I’m more than sure I do not possess the actual physical strength to push a hole in your chest and pull out your still beating heart, in the style of the tribe leader  in Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom.

Nor could I rip off a leg and club you to death with it, which is what I would really like to do right now and I most certainly do not possess massive canine teeth or claws for the shredding thing.  I wish I did, that would be cool.