Singing Psychic - Miss Orla

Eminem's Spirit Entered me... again!

2011-06-10T08:39:00.001-07:00

Eminem’s Nan
Chorus: Dido

My tea's gone cold I'm wondering why I..got out of bed at all
The morning rain clouds up my window..and I can't see at all
And even if I could it'd all be gray,but your picture on my wall
It reminds me, that it's not so bad,it's not so bad..

1st Verse:
Dear Nan, I wrote but you still ain't callin
I left my cell, my pager, and my mums home number
I sent two letters back in July, you must not-a got them
There probably was a problem at the post office or something
Sometimes I scribble addresses too sloppy when I jot them
but anyways; Fudge it, Nan what's up? Nan how's the Dalmations?
My boyfriends playing rugby, I'm cleaning the team kit
I can’t get the stains out, guess I'm doing something wrong?
I'm not a woman perhaps
Maybe I’m a man
I heard about your favourite son, Uncle Ronnie - I'm sorry
I had a friend got divorced over cheating too
I know you probably hear this everyday,
but I'm your biggest fan, nan
I even got the same air freshner as you
I got a room full of your pictures of us eating chips on the bench
I like the Horlicks you made for me, that drink was phat
Anyways, I hope you get this nan, hit me back,
just to chat, truly yours, your biggest fan
This is for you, Oh Gran
{Chorus: Dido

2nd Verse
Dear Nan, you still ain't called or wrote,
I hope you have a chance
I ain't mad - it's just Winding me up you don't answer nan
If you didn't wanna talk to me outside your house
you didn't have to, but you coulda shared your cake with Jonny
That's my boyfriend nan, we’re getting engaged
We waited in the blistering park for you,
four hours and you just said, "No, go away smelly.
"That's pretty mean nan - you're like my Fudgeing idol
Even Jonny wants to be just like you, he likes you more than I do
I ain't that mad though, I just don't like being lied to
Remember when we camped in Devon,
I was a cutsey 7 - you said if I'd write you
you would write back - see I'm just like you in a way
I like promises, rules and a neat home;
It’s a bore with Jonny sleeping on the couch while I’m scrubbing floors,
I can relate to what you said about lazy Grandad
and how your knees always hurt
so when I have a wack day, I drift away and think of you
cause I don't really got nowt else so those thoughts help when I'm depressed
I even got a tattoo of your name across the chest
Sometimes I even cook myself kidney pie, and over boil the veg
It tastes yucky but I know you love it
That makes me love it.
See everything you say is real, and I respect you cause you tell it
Jonny’s now getting jealous cause I talk about you 24/7
But he don't know you like I know you nan, no one does
He don't know what it was like for people like us growin up
You gotta call me Nan, I'll be the biggest fan you'll ever lose,
I’m 20 stone now!
Sincerely yours, P.S. We should be together too

Chorus: Dido[Eminem]

3rd Verse
Dear Susy, I meant to write you sooner but I just been busy
You said your engaged now, that don’t sound unpleasant like!
Look, I'm really flattered you like my hot drinks,
and here's a knitted scarf for your Jonny,
I'm sorry I didn't see you at the picnic,
I musta missed you
Don't think I did that intentionally just to diss you
But what's this nonsense you said about you can’t clean grass stains?
I say that nonsense just clowning dog,c'mon - how Fudged up is you?
You got some issues Susy, I think you need some instruction on cleaning
to help your ass from bouncing off the walls getting muck on em
And what's this nonsense about us meant to be together?
That type of nonsense will make me not want us to meet each other
I really like Saga trips, I think you and your fiancée need each other
or maybe he just needs to treat you better
I hope you get to read this letter, I just hope it reaches you in time
kick him off the couch and get him on the hoover,
I think that you'll do just fine if you relax a little, I'm glad I inspire you but I’m just your nan
We’re not that closely related
Are you turning into your mum? Friggin mad!
Try to understand, that I don’t want you 24/7, I’m just your nan
I love my Saga Trips
I saw these wack jobs on TV a couple weeks ago
Such jibber jabber inside their home. Gross they hadn’t dusted!
Their pets were sat on the sofas, it made me sick
The bin was overflowing with pizza boxes, yuck
but they didn't say who it was
Come to think about it, there names were Suzy and Jonny.. it was you two!
Damn, Dirty Cow!
I’m disowning you,
Nan!

Popping Eyes

2010-12-13T06:31:00.001-08:00

Last Night in Bangkok?

Sexually Yes! Physically and Spiritually No:0( But ho-hum I won't grumble!

I had a packed crowd at Leicester Square Theatre last night. Sweaty Betty! The smell of Pancetta and feet wafting through the Theatre showed London was not built for heat!

My audience were grasping and desperate for me to contact their dead relatives. The shere quantity of demands forced me to do 8 Psychic drawings (4 dead relatives from the same family)!

For speed and conveniance (and fun) I now do all the pictures on my iPad, and project them on the wall - how easy to draw and colour on!! I'm so 2011!

Unfortunately - my low tech audience meant they couldn't bluetooth my virtual images home.

I am hoping the 82 year old (Rose? Petal?) has the internet at home, so I can email her those 4 psychic pictures I did of her great Aunt, Father, Child and Sister. I kept asking the 82 year old (Violet? Scarlet?) for her email address, she said it was 42EdmontonstreetLeyton@e11.computerwhatmydear.

Helping 20 people, last night, to speak to their loved ones, fills me with joy and satisfaction. I loved watching them cry and gulp breaths of sadness. It shows that my gift (which earns me £3000 for 2 hours work!!!!) is valuable and proof that people need me! Bupa have approached me to work for them!

Hooorah and Hooray

Wanda - my Producer had to re-type the Police interview

2010-11-19T07:24:00.000-08:00

Police Station Interview Room

Tabatha Whittle 28 years old, well dressed, sophisticated London accent. In grey room. Bare walls, table, 3 chairs. No Windows. Office door. Tape recorder on table.
2 smartly dressed people, with tidied up working class London accents face Tabatha. They have A4 notes on table.
Police Officer 1 switches on Tape Recorder.
P1: 11th November 2010, Inspector Firth and Police Constable Coles of Kensington Police are interviewing Tabatha Whittle regarding Kidnapping attempt that occurred this afternoon. Time is now 17:55.
Police Officer 1 (P1) - Thankyou Tabatha for this, I’m sorry you can’t
go straight home, we just need further details of they men involved in
your kidnapping. You must have been very frightened?
TW - I was literally terrified, I was like, literally OMG they’re
going to kill me
P1 - So this morning, you were home alone, at your parents property, and
these kidnappers barged through your bedroom door?
TW - Yeah, I was in the study, the main study – I was revising, I was
so exhausted. I was literally asleep while reading.
P2 - So you were asleep?
TW - Yeah, so when then they came in, it was so noisy and frightening,
it like literally sounded like 20 men rushed in, literally filling the
study
P1 - 20 men came into your house, the study?
TW - 3 guys , but like literally they were as loud as like 20 men with
horses and shit
P2 – Can you describe these men? Were these men tall?
TW – Giants, literally 10 feet tall all of them, I was literally a
Tinkerbell compared.
P1 – ok? I have written here that they wore balaclavas? These 3 men
had you blindfolded and cuffed? What do you remember about that?
TW – I hate the dark, I literally die when it’s dark, so they like
killed me literally with the blindfold. Their hands on my skin, icy
cold and just one hand of theirs could of literally covered my whole
head.
P1 – they put you into their van?
TW – It was a large vehicle
P2 – was it a car?
TW – bigger than a car, smaller than a lorry
P1 – so a van?
TW – Bigger than a car, smaller than a lorry
P1 – A van?
TW – Um?
P1 – Literally a Van?
TW – YES! It was literally a Van, big, with seats – but when they
opened the door – I could tell it was an SUV
P2 – [Exasperated] How did you know that?
TW – I could see, literally my eyes were open and I looked and it was
a Landrover.
P2 – You pulled the blindfold off?
TW – Um!
P1 – Did you remove the blindfold, with your cuffed hands?
TW – They scared me, so I shut my eyes, which was like literally a
blindfold to this event, whatever
P2 – NO Blindfold?!?
TW -
P1 - Cuffs?
TW -
P1 – So did you see where they took you?
TW –
P2 – Did you recognise where they took you?
TW - Look, it was literally hundreds of hundreds miles and miles, I
was super terrified and the guy driving had literally eyes in the back
of his head, so I just sat petrified
P2 - How long was the journey, can you estimate? We’re really keen to
identify where they took you so we can find these men, So think
carefully.
TW - Ok – they drove for 5 or 6 minutes, past the school, past the
police station, stopped in Iceland then parked outside 14 Cleer
Street, the driver led me into the house, asked for my dads new mobile
number, dialled and asked my dad for £50.
P1 - Your dad said he’d been asked for half a million pounds!!!?
TW - But to my dad…half a million is like, literally £50… because he’s
so rich… I was offended, quite literally, when my dad said No.
P2 - But you then managed to escape? Without them harming you. Can
you run through what you did?
TW - I was literally NinJa, using my Yoga moves. I flipped tables as
they literally realised I’m BA Baracus in a Skirt, I’m gonna Bin Laden
their Arses
P2 Reads his A4 notes.
P2 - You said earlier, to the female officer they “asked” for you to leave.
TW –
The interview is interrupted by another officer who comes into the
room, he has a piece of paper, which he hands to the interviewer.
P2 We’ve found the Taxi driver, who says he picked you up. From 14
Cleer Street.
TW –
P2 He said the men that brought you to the Taxi paid your fare.
TW-
P2 To quote the Taxi driver, the ‘kidnappers’ apologised to you when
they got you in the taxi?
TW –
P1 Literally apologised?
TW – I’m starving, literally starving, can I get a Skinny Muffin?

Got a new Friend called Tabatha:0)

2010-11-19T07:17:00.000-08:00

Tabatha Whittle's life
INT:Harley Street Plastic-Surgeons Reception.
Very clean, modern, posh and quiet with a couple of people waiting.
In walks Tabatha, she’s 6ft 2 and carries a Selfridges’ bag. She walks to reception desk and leans over counter.
Tabatha: Literally the price of Prada shoes has crashed. These pairs literally cheap as chips! £180. I doubt I’ll ever wear the 6 inch heels – but so sexy! Is she seeing someone?
Receptionist: Yes, Camilla.
T: OMG The Camilla? Botox I bet? I literally hate botox. She’ll end up looking like she’s wearing a face condom, literally, yuck! [Tabatha Gurns] How long?
R: 5 more minutes?
T: My life literally slipping away, always waiting….

T:No! Just kidding:0) I don’t know how you stand this job? It’s so dead and quiet!
R: I’m pretty lucky to have a job & your mum is a great boss and a fantastic surgeon.
R: Dr Whittle mentioned you were with the Police yesterday?
T: See that? That’s where the police literally handcuffed me! See that, smaller yes – that’s what the criminals did to me.
R:Oh my! What happened?
T:Wasn’t my fault, Yesterday!! OMG Literally attacked by criminals, yeah you heard me right… then I got a roughing-up by the Police. Both of those ‘gangs’, the Criminals and Police literally ripped me, screaming, out the womb of innocence, away from my civil liberties… human rights.
T:I’ve had to block book 2 weeks with my therapist. I am literally suing the Police. Mum will pay for it!

T:I will not let this drop!
R: Oh my!
T: Double Jeopardy Victim.
R: Um
T:All that tax I pay… and it was the Police who literally treated me worsly.
R: -
T: Just got off the phone with Amnesty International! 3 minutes ago Amnesty literally called ME and asked if I was ok. They wanted to film an advert for me, highlighting - Literally to the world my plight!
R: My dad’s in the force.
T:I said thankyou, Amnesty – but I got it covered. Go film the Iranian’s that get stoned and can’t keep their Hijabs on!
T:I swear, if I was born in the USA I wouldn’t be treated like this. Oprah Winfrey wouldn’t allow that in her country.
INT CONSULTING ROOM
Dr Whittle (Tabatha's Mum) is 5ft 2. She’s sat talking to Camilla. We only ever see
the back of Camilla’s head. Between the two women is a large mahogany desk. On top of the desk is a firm plastic mould of a middle age woman’s arse with black marker pen marks around the lower arse cheeks. Dr Whittle fondles the buttocks as she talks.
Dr Whittle: Camilla! You will look amazing! You’ll notice a big difference and have a confidence that the new ‘cough’ will give you, Ahmen sister! Oh but *wink* he won’t realise…

Dr:Well he will notice of course! Notice that your ‘hmm’ looks tight..er and firm..er and has a magnetism, akhem, greater magnetism than it…. your kkkk does now.
Dr:What I’m saying is that he won’t know why or even suspect surgery! No No but, no don’t worry - if he did suspect… he would have to inspect your fffcuh with a magnifying glass…. Yes yes - in order to see my tiny incision scars he’d have to get right into your undercarriage, akhem… y’know down there.. and he’d need a very bright light aswell, and be wearing his best reading glasses, sober.. ha ha.
Dr: But he wouldn’t go to that level of scrutiny, no, not of ones body…. :o(!
Dr: Not that he wouldn’t want to… he loves you!…’Whatever ‘love is’ haa haa… he’d just get so quickly distracted into satisfying another need I’m sure, that he would lose interest fast wwww - oh not lose interest in you and your body... noWAY! He’d just get distracted.. by his burgeoning fruuu yes umm... distracted by the naked ness..
Dr: Yes Yes getting naked is definitely exciting akeh, I love it and you’re yes tttt.. corr lovely, yes
Dr: Don’t worry - for me my attraction to you is purely aesthetic & medical & it’s my job umm….
Dr: Plus I’m married… and it’s not a sham marriage, no we’ve a full, very full marriage phew.. lots of shshsh… But I’m saying in your case, ... not that you have a sham marriage or anything sham... well you will have a sham new arrrr.... but i'm saying with your chap.. y’know for him… Well he loves water colours….akem..
Camilla: - - -
Dr: Yes Yes Right..
Dr: So see you next Monday, 9.30am – nothing to worry about. No food for 6 hours before.
Dr: Yes, the car is waiting downstairs, use the side door – fine fine.
Dr: Goodbye. Thankyou Marm.
Dr Whittle bows slightly as Camilla leaves the Consulting Room.

INT RECEPTION

Tabatha sitting in reception. Alongside a patient.
T: Hi, here for treatment? I know why they call it Rhinoplasty now… looking at your nose – it’s literally like a Rhino!
Patient: I’m getting breasts…
T: enlargements Oh! Bigger boobs yes. Men literally explode around big boobs…. You’ll see, DD!!
P: Breast reconstruction, I’ve just finished breast cancer treatment.
T:…...
T: ...and the nose?
P: No… family heirloom
T: Yes definitely it looms and it's covered in hair…Ha!
P: I like my nose, it’s my dads
T: Tell him to take it back!.... It’s very ‘ethnic’ I like that…
P: Yeah….. my Irish family?
Reception Phone rings
Receptionist putting down phone: Mrs Cooper. Dr Whittle is just tidying up, so if you just take this form and sign here you can go in now.
T: Just a moment – can I nip in? Literally 2 seconds ok?
INT CONSULTING ROOM
On desk sits the life size model of a bum with black marker pen dots and dashes. The Surgeon is washing her hands with her back to Tabatha.
Tabatha smiling, lifts and play with Buttocks.
T:Literally holding Parker Bowels arse… ooh [impersonating Prince Charles] “I wish I was your tampon – lick lick”
Mum: Lovely to see you my little baby, wow your hair, kiss kiss. Why aren’t you working today? It’s a Wednesday?
T:I can’t live, I’m so tatty, literally a tramp. Everyone has seen the clothes I’m wearing a million times, literally a trillion times and I’m so ashamed and everything.
M:How do you get through your allowance so quickly? Two days in and you’ve kkkk
spent £600 that daddy gave you?
T: PETROL has doubled in PRICE mummy!
M:You Taxi everywhere…
T: HELLO! Taxi's use PETROL.
M: Taxi's use ummm Diesel
T: Thankyou mum for that education!
M: I’m quite busy darling
T: That’s it? You’re only surviving child and I get dismissed when I’m clearly distressed?
M: I never had, there was no other ffff - I didn't have any other children
T: but,,
M: Your father used a filter on the camera – there was, there is no twin sister….
M:It’s your birthday soon, is there something special you want?
T: A Barbour coat… just like yours, and this year I only want, literally 1 present and it’s a Barbour coat… and matching shoes…. And gloves.
M: So the same as my navy Barbour ummm, in a size 20?
T: NO – I’m the same size as you… but I’ve literally got such enormous tits – it will have to be 2 sizes bigger than yours.
M: ...size 20.... WELL if you’re lucky you may get it my little ppp princess..
T: But it’s on offer NOW and they’re holding it for me – it’s literally the last one in the country on sale… Just £320… c’mon
M: I’m busy and your birthday’s not for a whole month…. umm
M: Wednesday you help daddy, he needs your support petit pois.
M:How will you take over the business if you don’t know about it? Hmm?
T: He puts me in the back room and shuts the door. It’s literally a prison cell.
M: His office is very nice – it’s plush. Look - go help Daddy. After work, I will come pick you up and if he says you’ve been his perfect little helper then perhaps we can pick up the Barbour?
EXT Harley Street
Tabatha flutters 2 doors down Harley Street to Victory iVenture Capitalist.

INT ViVC RECEPTION
Immaculate skinny, straight haired lady sits behind high reception desk with a blue tooth ear piece. She smiles warmly at Tabatha then her face drops to cool.
Tabatha walks through the building to a tall grand door, she goes through. Inside is an empty office with a high backed chair and huge ‘Apprentice’ style conference table. Tabatha slings her bag on table and aims the coat for the chair – it misses and falls on the floor.
She sighs and walks out to a open plan office full of people busy on telephone calls and typing.
Tabatha wanders over to a good looking young new recruit, she’s flirting.
T: What you doing Firoz?
F: Umm closing a deal on Frankies Asia Net, it’s a 17% stacking up
of..
Tabatha wanders off
T:Dad uuuurrrh?

The owner of the business is Lord Whittle, he’s 5ft8, well built and very attractive, oozing charisma with a practical manner. He’s perched on the corner of a desk addressing 3 members of his successful business. They all look at him with interest and respect. He loves his daughter and hopes the best for Tabatha but he isn’t interested in Tabatha beyond the minimal parenting required.

Dad: Sit with Roanne – go on – deal with the files she’s going
through. ROANNE – give that work to Tabatha, then Roanna – get me a
10/31 on yesterday’s takeover bid? FIROZ - Man you giving a 211 to
Asia Net - Let the good times ROLE homey!
Tabatha sits next to Roanne. Roanne begins to explain the job
//time jump
3 minutes have passed and Tabatha’s nostrils flare with annoyance and
frustration.
Roanne: So that’s how you enter the data.
T: Excellent, you’re literally a database whiz, Bill Gates could learn
from you! So let’s start.
T: This file? Roanne, you enter that detail in. Do it
there. Ok?
R:Um? Ok – well if you actually do it – here or in your office, I
need to speak to Lord Whittle.
T:Tell Daddy “Tabatha nur nur”
J: Pardon?
T: Definitely, you go an speak to my father and I will support you in
doing your job, for you – literally doing this work, your work –
literally here, over there, in my office where I’ll literally work
over there. Yes? Ok?
R: Ok.
T: Coffee? I’m gonna nip to Starbucks.
R:No Thankyou.
Roanne with gritted teeth walks over to Lord Whittle. Tabatha chews a wasp.

Ladies - is it you that's the Alcoholic?

2010-10-07T07:35:00.000-07:00

Ladies… You know when you go to the bathroom – always checking for spots? No pimple can last for longer than the time between urinating. Messy hair with knots, ladies it’s the same – it’s just the time between pees that your hair can be and stay naughty,

But you can weigh 9 stone and have fingers as swollen and large as cumbershire sausages and you still won’t notice you’ve got a drink problem.

You can sit out on an October morning, 5 degrees, gail blowing, you’ll be in a tshirt and sweating and you still won’t notice you’ve got a drink problem.

Your nose is as red as Rudolfs.. but no – it’s winter sunburn, you haven’t got a drink problem.

Your friends start ordering water from the bar, and it takes the same amount of time for them to drink 1 half pint glass of water as for you to down 3 pints of strong bow and you still won’t notice you’ve got a big drink problem.

You see your best friends chatting to you with a big smile on her face, you sense shes talking about the cute guy in the office and what she wants for her birthday but all you can say is, “Why such a sad face, get yourself a drink, cmon lets party” No you still won’t notice during this work away day that you’re the one with the drink problem.

You’re buying a Kebab.

You’re on your second Kebab and you’re not sure how you got a chicken one this time. Alcoholic? Not you.

The whole of London is winking at you – you’re in a tower block – perhaps you can fly? Oh – a cold bottle of beer being handed over by a cute fat guy who looks like father xmas….. drinking issues? Nope!

Really comfy soft bed – need toilet – oh fat guys fallen asleep on top … warm water flows, feels nice….

Head hits taxi door jam…. Santa’s so nice..

Time for work….oh I’ve got a cold:0) Phone in.

Love Music

2010-10-07T07:32:00.000-07:00

Woman in thirties walks into a small independent music store. The shop is full of Vinyl and CD’s.

The Owner is a smooth talking city type, a budding Richard Branson.

Owner: Can I help you Miss?

Customer: I’ve just got into a relationship & I want music to match my mood, you know?

Knowingly the Owner nods.

Owner:Lemar Love

Owner picks up the CD Lemar Love. Picture of X Factor winner covers the CD.

Customer:What Tracks?

Owner:The Classic, [Sung] “You making me Feel Good”

Customer:No

Owner: George Michael? [Sung] “Come unto me”

Customer nods No

Owner: Elton Johns new album – the track [Sung] “You wear my lions mane, ile wear you”

Customer: No! We’re in a Romantic mood..

Owner (Eager to please and sell) Barry White, Love Walrus…

Customer: Used him with my ex…put me off, and I want it to be real this time…

Owner; Susan Boyle’s just released an album.. she’s fresh to romance. She wrote this album after she began dating her first boyfriend.

Owner picks up Susan Boyle's album as if it's something dirty and revolting. Owner reads the track names.

Owner:First Track is called “Is that it?”, 2nd Track “I’d rather Titchmarsh”, 3rd “My body stings, you sure we did it right?”

Customer:Perfect – I’le buy it!

I'm Dating Facebook. Ok?

2010-10-07T07:27:00.000-07:00

Those excluded from cyberspace, sacrificed to living just within these 3 dimensions, marooned on the island of actual reality – let me explain Facebook.

It’s Heaven - for us on earth, and it’s name is Facebook. I have 370 friends there. They are always smiling and cute. Interesting and fun. They bask under the virtual Facebook Sun. Eyes open, teeth shining, never growing old, never dying, no pain. Once in a while they wake from their happy slumber and instant message me, but most of the time they lie passive and happy. I float around their pages, undisturbed, learning all the best things about them. If I want find others – I search and see the smiling faces of billions..

Dry humping, always felt so much better than sex. Like Dry Humping is Facebook. Facebook is better than life… umm and Sex.

God set up a Fan Club on Facebook… After reading the DaVinci code I don’t trust all that gubbins… Especially the rules for joinng… sheesh! I won’t accept getting gangbanged by a mob so my dad can sit safely indoors drinking with a rescued Angel, I don’t care if the angel looks like Zac Ephron – I ain’t being no Jodie Foster on a Pool table… not even for God! That joke really worked in the Vatican…. You know Sodom and Gomorrah? “I know what the Sodomites did but what the Feck Gomorran’s were doing – SHEESH!’

Jesus’s fan page – All his status updates are in past tense. It’s supposed to be what you’re doing now.

Plus he starts playing Farmville and all he had was 1 cow and 1 pig, within 5 minutes of joining he had thousands, enough to feed 5000 fat Americans. I don’t trust him.

Mohammad’s page, he didn’t have a photo… Shy? Whatever – they’re all too old school – for me! I can’t poke or chat or tell Jokes with no shut your eyes and imagine religion. I need interactivity!

So I settled for signing upto Oprah Winfrey’s Facebook fanclub. She’s all the god this woman needs.

Plus she’s released a sex book!

Coxswain. I used to be a Coxswain. That’s the little gobby one that sits on the end of a rowing boat and shouts and the big rowers to go faster. Due to hitting 11 years old and overnight turning into the 6ft 20stone women you see before you, I was yelled at to “GET OFF THE BOAT! The boat’s scraping the bottom of the river; Water is coming over the sides, this aint a submarine, GET OFF FATTY, You Giant FreaK”. Rowers were little bitchy in the eighties….

I had to stop being a Coxswain. I’d loved it – I had been involved in a sport – but really - I was a spectator with a great view.

SEX is very similar. It’s also a Spectator Sport, with a great view.

Can we rebrand SeX? Sex for women means fumbling around with a guy, watching him cum then using up the next 24 hours buying Caneston, having salt baths & using Caneston - all for the friction burns (Boys – our soft bits feel like they’ve been tenderized, like you tenderize a steak. Why do they feel like that? Cos are soft bits have been tenderized, the way you tenderize a steak. [mime getting cock out and tenderizing steak] I know that what you boys do!). So boys, lets not talk in ‘Sex’ terms – keep it to Orgasms. That’s the bit I want…. The big O, an Orgasm. You can keep your spectator sport, I want to be in this game and score big and often, I’m happy to have as many as you:0)

Let me Row!60 million people working at this moment in the United Kingdom. If we each raise £13,333 we can pay off the UK £800 Billion debt. So I’ve set up a Facebook page asking for donations. It’s called “You wanted this ‘just society’, So pay for it!”. Easy! Suck Dirt ConDems!

I only accept messages from Facebook. I’m weaning myself off this face to face stuff… like if you call me on the telephone, or dare even to text – I SHOUT – get yourself back to the 90’s Mr Alan Sugar, Facebook me or nothing.

And I’m sorry I missed your event DAD – if the event ain’t on Facebook it don’t exist in my world, ergo – it don’t exist FULL STOPP. Yeah – so I missed your funeral? You didn’t send a global event invite Dad – so you aint dead to me…

BTW What is the etiquette of dead Facebook friends?

Report them…?

I had an instance – I’d met a guy called Gordon through mutual friends and we’d gone out on a few occasions, had pizza wine – he was so good looking and charming – he was like a beautiful modern day Roger Moore James Bond. He loved to talk about porn, and the sex he’s seen and wanted – and I really didn’t mind, he was charming and sexy and I spent the meal turned on and highly amused – he made sex funny and saucy, naughty and palatable, his conversation went well with the wine and 4 Cheeses pizza, my nan might not of liked it, or his wife – but they were busy chatting about X Factor or whatever….

6 months passed and life moves quickly and we’d not seen each other around, then I spy his gorgeous face on Facebook. So I ‘request Friend’. After a few days I bump into a mutual friend of ours who tells me that Gordon died of cancer.

Shit – it was really sad, plus I was a bit embarrassed about requesting his facebook friendship – it’s a bit insensitive. Well I log in to Facebook – to see if I can withdraw my request… and - he’s accepted. Dead Gordan has accepted my Friend Request.

OMG - SHIT I think – he’s contacting me , from the other fucking side.. I’m like thinking O’My dude – get off the Facebook, leave it alone.

Fuck – that really is a Facebook obsessefysing. So what’s the etiquette – do I delete him? Do I block him? Report him? “Dead People Message Me”. Then he messages me, asking me “do I want to meet up?”

What the? I look at his profile – I read all these condolences from friends and family.

His status doesn’t ever change – it reads ‘Feeling better’.

He emails again asking me to his memorial service –well that does it – he’s taking the piss - it freaks me out – I’m like – begon satan bastard – leave this living plane. Now the surprise – satan only goes an apologises!

Unexpected? Nice!

Now the passive aggressive power of Facebook – “Facebook Blocking”. Similar to Cock Blocking – but involving more Cocks.

Men have Blocked me from their Facebook – what do they think I’m gonna do?

When I see these Face CockBlockers, in the flesh – what do I say to them…. Cos if I shout at them “hey you won’t accept my friend request, I can’t see your photos.., I can’t show the world I’ve got even more friends” I sound like a sad bitch that needs a life and they’ll be as smug as David Cameron. So instead I have to act like I don’t give a shit – but I do. They’re defecating my civil rights, they’re deny my feminist power, they are imprisoning me away from my bra burning liberty…

Martin Luther King said“I have a dream”, Germain Greer said “I’m allowed to Cream”. They would spin in their graves if they new their efforts were powerless against Facebook Fascists!

If someone asks my religion.. I say Facebook. I deny all false profits like umm letter writing, travelling.. conversation..

What I love about Facebook is it crosses all divides, all classes. It’s a universal leveller.

People without the internet still use Facebook.

They get a piece of card, like a from a cardboard box and write in Blue and White ‘Facebook’. The exact styled name and logo… you know - on the card.

Then they add a photo or draw a picture of themselves… sometimes wearing funny moustaches. They hand the card to their friends… their buddies will add notes.. and then when you get your Facebook back, you add a status, then pass it around again –

“The Circle of LIFEEEEE”

Over time these cards, get turned into little books – they stick their profile card onto school books…they’re upgrading you see? Creating their very own Face Book Book….

They have all Facebook applications.

If they want to poke a friend, they like get up and go over to their friend and like actually ‘poke’ them, with their finger..

And they email ‘old-school’. Yeah Coolio… Email – Electronic Mail. They get a guy with a Tazer or an old car battery, and they like send him over to their mates… they go over and ‘email’ you…a Male Electrocutes you. It’s so cool..

In huts and communities around the world, Facebook creates a quiet atmosphere – everyone scribbling at their Facebook pages.. which is likegreat for countries in Warzones or under seize… coz like in Zimbabwe or Afghanistan… Instead of the head Mullah screaming – “Get down, be quiet, the Americans are coming, they’re drugged up on prescription post-traumatic anti-psychotics and want to rape us all” – they now just whisper ‘Facebook’ and all the women and children quietly busy themselves.. updating statuses… while infidels and holy warriors are killed to the back beats of Jimi Hendrix remix and of course the swishing of Facebook updating.

If someone is a bit dirty though – on someone’s face…book…book.. You know – writing about how bad you look in your photo, or that you’re tits look fake - well you get reported and a warning is smeared onto your Profile Card, if you don’t cool it they burn your Facebook book. I don’t like the idea of burning face book books – burning Facebook is immoral – Fair enough you wanna burn a regular book on evolution or some maths shit – but like buring a face book book – it’s like burning a soul – it’s life and everything, like burning gods face… book……

Dave Gorman - likes Wanda?

2010-08-14T04:15:00.000-07:00

MWMYMY

Wanda Keenan is David Brent - CBS, FOX NEWS, CNN

2009-11-23T13:18:00.000-08:00

I do declare - Wanda Keenan - my manager for over 12 years is infact:

THE TOTAL INSPIRATION for 'The Office' hero DAVID BRENT.

Wanda began dating Ricky Gervais (she was on the rebound from being dumped - By Blind Ernie) during the late 90s. Immediatley Wanda became suspicious of Gervais's intentions. He jotted down everything she said.... and filmed her dancing.

So after a whirlwind romance she snapped him off - with (she promises) only the occasional phone call regarding their daughter.

Wanda led me a merry dance - hiding these 'Brent' traits until I forced her into a corner.

A preverbial corner - where she unleashed her sweaty patronising ways.

Once Wanda returns from the Priory, I may fire her. If she hasn't changed....

Her Priory consultant (Aid) assured me Wanda had picked up an eating disorder - silver linings.....

The spirits failed me this time - usually they gleefully inform me when I meet A-holes.

Fini

Fat Kitten V Cannonball - Wanda's Summary

2009-11-11T06:40:00.001-08:00

Strutted
Screamed
Yelled
Charmed
Innocence
Vulnerability
Childish
Womanly
Manly
Arrogant
Loud
Dirty
Wild
Fair
Shocking
Predictable – never
Thrusting
Alive
Alive
Awake
Alive

Fat Kitten V Cannonball - pt1 written by Manager Keenan

2009-11-11T06:10:00.000-08:00

OMG - crowds were loud and fierce. Only half the audience had seats.

Both teams were scared.

James from Fat Kitten was pumped with anxious Adrenalin… adding to his alertness by using the energy properties of Red Bull… wired him to the edge.

Cannonball’s Chris vanished, normally an affable and exuberant chap – he diminished under the lights and responsibility of ‘comedy genius’ expectation (do we have another Ruby Wax on our hands?).

I was anxious and excited. I decided that morning that Hosting shows is the way I want my comedy path to lead. It’s the easiest way for me to get on a stage and get big laughs. I’m allowed to be noisy, arrogant, selfish and blisteringly pompous!

James questioned my ‘warm-up’ plans for the night – offering his troupe to get the audience going. I rebuffed the offer… warming up an audience is my skill…

Hey the frostier the audience the more exciting journey for me!!!

Jumping on stage once the teams were cowering in the corner… I roared. Thundercats style. The Roar continued – the call of the wild got men roaring alongside.

My energy level was at 85% during this show.

My flat 5% energy displayed
Work 40% energy displayed
Impro Workshops 50% energy showing
Near Alan Marriot 55% energy show
Normal Friends Parties 60% energy displayed
Actor Friends Parties 62% energy displayed
Family events 70%
Stand-up 72% energy displayed
Improvising in front of an audience 75% energy displayed
FAT KITTEN V CANNONBALL 85% energy on show
88% energy show while dancing in a club to FANTASTIC MUSIC
Adult content & near death life saving experiences from here on….

Fat Kitten V Cannonball... how it started for my manager

2009-11-11T06:02:00.001-08:00

1 week ago my Manager - Wanda Keenan lost a bet at the Phoenix Bar.

She had a choice - Truth or Dare.

For my honour she accepted Dare. To become the guide/host/chaperone of a ‘gentlemen’s’ fight.

In the creative community we have many Comedy ‘Squads’. A Squad is a unit of pairs/trios of comediennes. Members of the Squad bond together usually by shared comedy values – or in this instance – a shared dislike of an apposing comedy ‘Squad’.

To settle the differences – between these two Squads (Fat Kitten and Cannonball) a dark dank room was found near London Bridge.

They invited a raucous semi-dressed rabble, a panel of Judges straight from Acas and the Circus Ring Leader.

Due to Swine Flu – the booked Circus Ring Leader – Ivor Begkoc, had to pull out….

Meanwhile.. Wanda had spent a long innocent day in Soho bars, discussing politics and fashion. Accepting the offer of ‘one for the road’ she stumbled down the steps of the Phoenix Bar. Her ‘date’ the well love army comic Greg McHugh caught her just after she’d hit her head through a Japanese Screen Partition.

…Like Alice following the white Rabbit – this accident thrust Wanda and Greg into a Poker game..

Wanda is as Wyle coyote as the next Essex girl and managed to lose only her Jacket, Blouse and Bra…during the Live Poker Tournament however when the stakes increased.. to Truth and Dare – her luck changed.

Stood on the centre of the Poker Table, with a shot glass balanced on her head and between her knees they shouted at her…. Truth or Dare.

Wanda bellowed Truth.

They asked her if I, Miss Orla had slept with all the presenters of Most Haunted. Well luckily Wanda has a moral code – and knows where her breads buttered.

Wanda whispered… DARE!

Her dare was to Host the Snuff Show – Fat Kitten V Cannonball at The Miller, London.

Lust Time

2009-10-23T06:41:00.000-07:00

I'm in Lust - thinking about him turns me on.

Thinking about him thinking about me turns me on.

Imagining him thinking about me thinking about him thinking about me turns me on.

Is this normal? Christian? Decent? Kind?

Thinking about his mouth turns me on.

Thinking about his mouth on me turns me on.

Thinking about my mouth on his mouth turns me on.

Thinking about his mouth coming close to my mouth so my mouth is on his mouth turns me on.

Is this healthy? Should I talk to someone? Should he be scared?

Up a Blind Alley

2009-09-02T03:38:00.000-07:00

Extreme surgery causes me bi-monthly blindness.

Over 8 years I've managed this blindness by BRAILing and learning 'listening'.

Both skills helped during blind and non blind days.

However I report this simply because I've just come out of 'Alice's little hole.....'

I didn't take drugs... my hell was created by subliminal satanic Brail rants that appear on uneven surfaces....

Apparently accessed easily, accidentally and often intentionally by the 'blind' fraternity.

While scaring the innocents and unsuspecting weaker minds and me.

Early August 2009 I was sliding around my Kensington aparment... blindly patting my padded walls and polished floors - enjoying fun recreationional sliding - good for spirits.

THWACK head hits 15th Century French Chifforobe. I hit back. My open hand slid across grainy surface..

Scream SCReam SCREAM - I read a Brail RANT.... Dimpled onto Chifforobe - Hitler/Satan my house keeper McMac? Who wrote this?

Words evocative and smelly, cruel and intelligent, salty and Vinegar....

I ordered McMac to drag me to my room, wrap me up and close the curtains around my bed. Sleep came hard.

Word on the Blind Alley - it's a conspiracy to encourge world domination.

...it's blindingly obvious.... Satan is forcing me to become the Brailinator

Robin Ince doesn't believe.... in me.... CURSES

2009-08-21T02:40:00.000-07:00

At the five star apartment complex.

Enjoying tattie eggs... or some such Scottish delight - with Tea.

A beautiful sunny morning in Edinburgh - overlooking Glastonbury Tour's uglier rockier cousin... Lenny the Bruce Rock, Arthurs Needle... i'm not sure of its name - or even if that's what I can see.

Yesterday I got a smack - a big, damp, open handed wallop in the mush.

Robin Ince and his verbal boxer 'Gobby'.

Not only does he NOT believe in Psychics, but as he looked straight through me... I see that he doesn't believe in me!

He has no interest in the Spirits of our ancestors and Robin's anger and ignorance is equally distributed onto the beautiful people of the cloth - ie Miss Orla, ie Me ME MEEEE.

Was I upset? Well.... would a GOD be upset if a Beetle died and smeared it's entrails on the Gods shoes? NO! Dissappointed, regretful of creating such a selfish Beetle... but not UPSET.

Being upset would mean I cared. Would I care for some big brained MAN? Some book reading, friends of Scientist, Communist, break-dancing, fat thumbed, CLARK?!?!?

I'm not stupid, I care for wise and gifted people - all of which care for me FIRSTLY. I'm in their prayers..... can Incy say the same....

Anyway - I had a party in my suite last night. A whole room of Widowers gathered around my burning ring, Candles flickering as the spirits of Pan and Pam, whispered and stroked knowing moments of love to all the old women. Cheekily undressing the ladies of their earthly burdens.

Pearls, Gold, Dignity and Murrgh... a humble exchange for peace and restful sleep.

Miss Orla

Karaoke Circus - 100 club - no Photos?

2009-08-03T06:38:00.001-07:00

Big Up the West London, East London, Yate, NI, Yorkshire, Canadian, US, African, Dutch, Wallander MASSIVE!

All the rest of you.... Afternoon.

I went to the Chiropodist. It wasn't my feet that were hurting. I actually had a 'lady' issue which caused overwhelming embarrassment...

So rationally I thought.. Start at the bottom and work up/around to the real problem.

When I finally confessed to the Chiropractic clinician (who, with her colleagues was examining my Xray and Google’ing diseases) I received no sympathy.

My 'lady' issue was poo-pooed...

In a fit of tears and anger I ran out and down Harley street - falling into two clowns.

Foz Foster and Baron Gilvan.

They recognised me (In my former life I was a Roadie called ‘Heffer’ the Human Ballast).

Foz and The Baron dusted me down and loaded their instruments and Amps into my arms. Foz climbed on board and using Husky calls directed me to 100 Club on Oxford Street.

Paying me in Cider I was happily sipping, supping and bupping (burping and bopping to the beat).

Then Mr White, on the stage, with the dagger yelled at me to get up! He spoke about my breasts or made some such crack about me feeding a family of Jackals one winter in Alaska (and!??) as I dragged my booze covered body on stage.

Music started, I was handed the lyrics to ‘Nothing Compares to You’ a Sinead/Prince song.

4oo eyes were on me. I was a little Christian Lion in the Pit with hungry Atheists.

I sung and sung, I clawed for Martin White, he was too fast. Foz teased me with shiny objects, blinding and scaring me. Audience jeered (in tune), pounding drums… All building to a crescendo.

Then an audience CHEER! Sound so powerful and overwhelming I fell back, trembling.

Martin grabbed me to make sure I didn’t damage the stage. I was lowered back to the ground and given a cider. All I heard was the peck peck pecking whisper of…. "You should go on Britain’s got talent…. Go on Britain’s got talent".

Many photo's have come out of that night - hundreds. Yet not one of me. Mother said i've a face for Radio. Father always insisted Masks were in fashion.

Wanda (aka Miss Orla’s Manager)

ISMA ALMAS and EDINBURGH

2009-08-03T06:25:00.000-07:00

Wow what a week, what a month.

Every God went on Holiday and where did they visit?

ME!

Even my 'Big Ass' Aura and Soul struggled to cater to the Gods.

ThankGod (so to speak) they were in party frolicking mood.

All the talk in the celestial realms is of ISMA ALMAS.

A stand-up comic sent from HEAVEN to delight and entertain THE WORLD.

Edinburgh at The Stand. Every Day. It's simple - do it, watch it, see it, absorb her, draw in, grow, engulf, smother, wrap, feast, lay with and devour this amazing talent.

America Loved Me - No longer a one way affair

2009-07-07T08:31:00.000-07:00

So - the Americans have taste.

First Barack and now Miss Orla.

I came and conqured that country. As Paul Revere rightly said 'The British are coming, The British are coming' - yes - came and conqured.

'Violins play softly'

*nod head to beat and click fingers*

Perhaps this little lady Brit didn't get her hands on all their real estate - but if you could measure hearts and minds...I'd say Miss Orla bagged herself a multi-verse of hearts and minds....

...a multi-verse which if you built on...

...buiiiiiltttt ONNNNNNN....

...is bigger than America....

...yeah?....

..Yeah...

...and my multiverse got no recession....

...my multiverse is full of naked men..... that talk like women.... and cook like McDonalds... but don't have calories..... the food that is... I don't want no skinny man..... just naked men.... plural... and multiples... everything must multiple.... apart from me... I don't want to multiply... well not in my kingdom of naked men.... Miss Orla babies crying and embarrassing... no.. I got nude men to wash.. clean down and up... conquered...

ATTENTION - that last extract was from a Miss Orla Jazz RANT. Can be heard on Virgin Records USA JAZZ

ImprovBoston 21st June 7.10pm

2009-06-18T07:37:00.000-07:00

Miss Orla is doing America and i'm starting at the capital of Tea Parties - BOSTON!

Come down and see me on Sunday 21st June at Improv Boston:

ImprovBoston, 40 Prospect St. Cambridge, MA, USA, 02139Phone: 617-576-1253

You may be asking what's a Singing Psychic doing at an Improv night - well it's very simple.

25 years ago when ImprovBoston began - an accident occurred on stage that caused the brutal death of an Improviser.

They were creating a scene in the style of a Western Genre - Tumbleweeds, Saloon, Whores, Spitting.... The Gun Fight.

One of the improvisers - not fully understanding the rule of 'imagination' and 'performance' pulled out a real gun and shot the other performer.

Even though the guy with the real gun had pulled his gun slower than the improviser with the 'imagined' gun, tragically that imagined bullet couldn't disarm his opponent - infact it antagonised the real gunman.

Over the last 25 years that slain improviser has been a quiet spirit - only interrupting a few late night performances with flickering lights and eery smells - but recently he's upping the anti.

Pushing the limits of health and safety! (I’m vociferous in my hatred for Health and Safety expunctionists) ....taking batteries out of smoke alarms, pouring water on tiled floors!

He's also interfering with shows - making performer’s fluff lines, throwing in swear words etc.

So I - Miss Orla - have been called in to X'ise the venue, the stage, the hardware, software, people etc.

Come watch me, come touch me, come b me, come come come. Come Comb Come...

Tidal Wave of Lust

2009-06-14T13:42:00.000-07:00

Slipping out of the bath I chanced upon a tall Japanese man. As I was in my locked bathroom I was a tad surprised till I noticed he had no feet.

Izanagi handed me my deep purple satin robe and carried me into my bedroom.

As a spirit guide he'd made me stiff and immobile - so I succumbed to his delicate soothing touch as I listened to his concerns.

Shinto Kami Impurity... that's the main points for the western reader - let's just say we need to balance the books. It's not quite a snappy as Ying Yang but it's the same deal - we need to get balanced.

War and Nuclear Bomb building is tipping us on the side of Yang and we need a good dose of Ying. Or mass indigestion and migraines will befall us.

This comes from Izanagi. I'm in no place to question that 'God'. (and yes ladies… he is!)

His solution is simply 'Lust Dust'. He will be sitting on a cloud and “Dust” us with “Lust” – “Dust Lust”.

So people - you heard it first - i've warned you.

Personally I say "Bring it On!"

Boys'R'Toys

2009-06-01T03:26:00.000-07:00

Out and about and in and out

Sunny shining evaporate drout

Rivers of Bliss and Mountains of Winks

Summers here

Yes! Muckspredder stinks

When tired of jam and tea, stretch ones legs, pop fingers, grind jaw to the whistling silence of a summer dawn

Smell me in the garden, field me on a bridge, hug me from woodglade trip, bite hard to my rosy lips

Sandals pinch of sand delights, Puppies yap in dusky fright, all the world is out tonight, sleep and lover winter, elope on diamond kite

Aretha and Dusty Springfield entered Manager Wanda

2009-03-02T02:58:00.000-08:00

My Manager/Agent/Mentor and sometimes lover (in your dreams Miss Orla) has followed the ways of her number 1 client.

Winning a prestigious pagan event called 'Kareoke III' and beating the likes of Phil Jupitus and Ben Miller.

You decide if (like me) you think she resembles Hitler riding a Pig.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xaBQ0MJ5lhs
Her proudest moment.... which doesn't say much.

Sylvester Stallone's Agent Is in Da House

2009-01-23T05:45:00.000-08:00

Just as I was leaving aunties - via the bar and 3 G&T's I bumped into a distinguished chap. Had an accent from 1940 Hollywood (if you know what I mean ladies!).

Could I restrain myself? Barely!

While helping 'Jimmy' dab off some red wine - using spit and towelling - he whispered that he had a difficulty.

Being secure and sheltered in the cubicle - I urged him to speak freely - I am - if nothing else - a quintessentially trust worthy friend, mentor and confident.

His 'client'. Mr Sylvester Stalion needs a new Kidney. Not for health reasons - purely recreational endurance.

I understood everything and felt supremely confident within his arms.

The difficulty Jimmy had was with the provenance of the organ.

As you probably all know those clever science bods in Yankyville have perfected ‘Willie Wonker/Star Trek’ beam technology.

I.e. the ability to break an item into billions of pieces and re-create that item – perfectly formed, feet, yards or even miles from pick-up.

The computing/light…. thingy processing is so enormous that the Science Bods do keep the samples small and simple. Like a Willie Wonker Chocolate Bar or a human organ.

The Provenance of Sylvester’s Kidney comes from pre-death, death row inmates. These young fit lads are perfect hosts… their meals and exercise is ordered and consistent. The lads are in peak condition.

One day they wake without a Kidney.. if they wake at all? They give something back to society (wealthier members of society) and I’m sure somewhere in their feral brains they feel a stab of pride.

Sylvester's issue is - he doesn't want an organ from a bad person... he feels it's sullied, dirty... I suppose you could say - tinged with Evil?

I insisted Jimmy take me to Mr Stallone at ONCE. I'd never heard anything so flim flam feeble before. And coming from a big Hollywood bod!

18 hours later I was laying by the Pool of Jimmy's Cottage (only Americans could call a 18 bedroom Mansion a Cottage:0) . Sheepishly and distracted Sylvester strutted in.

I tapped a towel covered stool - beckoning Sylver to join me.

I whispered "Do you like Steak?"

Sylve laughed - such an silly question to ask an American muscle man. He assumed I was a simpleton...

I was the master of this verbal chess game.. Slowely Slowely Catchee Monkey...)

I got dressed into my silk LA pjs and led Sylv to the table. My cook - Mr Eagle - was BBQing steaks. The smell was intoxicating.

"When you eat that rare steak, with Worchestershire Sauce and mushrooms, and you chew it in your mouth - how do you feel?"

Sylvester got close to my face "A man eats meat - meat is good"

Mr Eagle served two fat rare steaks. Almost as big as a mans fist. My mouth salivated as I tossed my eyes from Steak to Sly to Steak to Sly.

Sly and I stared at each other as we chewed and cut and fed ourselves.

Swallowing hard I cleared my mouth. As I wiped the juice from my chin I said "What if this steak came from a bull. A bull that went wild and stampeded. In that stampede the Bull killed a small child. Would the steak be bad?

Sly laughed an open and full mouth laugh.. The laugh of Goliath as David appeared with a sling.

I let him roll his eyes and pick his teeth then I jabbed again "So the meat isn't bad. The meat isn't condemned for the actions of the Bulls brain?"

"No you strange Brit - of course not" Sly smirked

"So why dismiss the organs of a Convict? That Kidney didn't break the law... it was the brain - the brain that did wrong. As a modern society we must be able to seperate the organs from the brain. The skin from the bones." I dazzled Sly using my Obama nation style.

Sylvia was dumb struct. He leant over and with a mouth full of mushrooms he kissed me full on the mouth. I felt like a little bird being fed by its mumma.

Cut off in my Prime

2009-01-22T05:51:00.000-08:00

Hello Devoteas

I was called away suddenly - not the spirits - more random than that - it was a CELEBRITY.

I'm back at Old Aunties - stirring troops and summoning dead commissioners - when a tall Scottish hunk began wittering on...

"oh i'm looking for a printer, where's my printer... I need a printer"

While eyeing up my equipment I thought - I KNOW YOU - YOU'RE A CELEBRITY.

I should be a detective - as like Sherlock Holmes I deduced:

1) I recognise Him
2) He can't be friend or family because I don't know any black haired Scottish men
3) My luck was in

So coming to his rescue - I helped this whitterer - glowing with English rose radiance and the residue of a particularly pumping gym session.

He said "Thankyou - you're very kind"

I agreed, he's observant even if printer retarded.

I pressed the buttons for 2 copies and put the paper into the machine (yes he'd fecked that up - trying to shove the paper into the air cooler!)

Genetically speaking - he's attractive, tall, fit. He's a celebrity so 'Talented' smart and 'Show' Business savvy. But he's also cack handed and dufus-like.... Breeding potential - ummm - Scottish men are well known around my end - to be generous if hesitant lovers... hey i'le give him a shot.

Father of my first born - may allow that.

I'le keep you posted...

...he's probably irritating the tits off his wife - i'm not that much of a feminist to come to her rescue and take him off her hands - and if she's a Scottisher she probably thrives and swells on adversity and suffering.

Rascist Rant over - that's why my last blog was cut short.

Another Ibiza ditty that shot out of me was a future warning to a tight clothed actress who presented herself on her knees...

CSI Animal

Got a call from my Agent
Got a call
Got a call

He said 'Little Princess'
You're going to the ball

I've got you Animal Rescue
A Feature that will place:
CSI Animal
Insert - Titled with your face

CSI Animal?
I questioned
'What is that?'

"CSI Animal Crimes against...?
Cat, Bat or Rat"

Come Monday Morning
Wardrobe dressed me up
Tight; jeans, Vest Shirt, Lacquered hair
Black Boots worn 4 stirrups

I looked NY chic
LA Glam
I'm a Hollywood Dream Babe
Ready for HD Cam

First shows
Were simple shows
Abattoir and Battersea Dogs Home
Reasons for Deaths - so clear
Even without DNA smear

3rd case was mighty tricky
on A45 to Penge
Hedgehog suspiciously flattened
His death - my duty to avenge.

Rule of thumb when CSI'ing
Hold off assumptions to the end
First impressions can be false
This is no Pretend

On my knees I dusted for prints,
On my back I scoured for motive
On my feet I UV'ed for Blood/Semen
With one of these - I did succeed

Trajectory of Blood Splayed
out from end to end
1.7m diameter
once again - I don't pretend

I photoed every angle
Photos of my looking great
Photos of my mate Johnny
Ooops wrong step I make

I stepped back onto flat Hedgehog
The Director and Producer saw
They’re both animal lovers
Sensitive issue – too raw

They let me finish the ep
Demo’ed how Hog was hoe’ed
Slow-Mo recreation
Using plasticine hog and road

My pretty scaled blood spat image
My pretty butt in tight jeans
My pretty NY chic stirrups boots
No dent – They told me ‘Just Leave’

I was a Doctor - till they cut off my heart and balls

2009-01-21T07:16:00.001-08:00

Welcome to the year of the Oxe - 2009 - Bully for me? 'Yes!' Bully for you? "Well let me look at you closer... get closer to your screen.. oooh - Yes!"

You're asking yourself - 'what did Miss Orla do for New Year?'

(Once a Psychic - always a Psychic - ha ha!)

You're asking yourself - 'Was her New Year as good as mine?'

You're asking yourself - 'Is it too late to buy dollars cheaply?'

For all those answers and more... keeeeeeep reading!

New Year 2009

Wow what a night - what dancing - what revelations???

Infront of 17,000 party goers in Ibiza I sung the following trippy skank fiver song lament - bellowed straight from the bowels of Naraka:

I was once a Doctor
Treating the sick and the lame

I was once a DoctorAlas...
never again

I saved a life lesser than human
NO Human Dr can

I save a life of a Zebra
this is how

my pain
began

My husband was dozing beside me
Driving our beautiful Sedan
I changed the radio? Was I lighting a fag?
This is how,
my pain
began.

Hitting a Longleat Zebra
To lazy to run from the horn
To dim to fear metallic roar
travelling faster than a Lion's Yawn

The thwump did wake my hubby
The thwump did dent my car
Zebra limping away
Won't get long away
from bruising my Sedan Car

I sped on foot to the Zebra,
He ran limply away
Back in the car I followed
Won't escape medical prey

Shouting 'Hold the Wheel' hubby
we drove alongside beast
Shouting 'Hold the Wheel' hubby
My own safety in Sedan did cease

Around the neck I did grab
pulling the Zebra to the ground
Rugby as a young girl good training
Forcing my quarry down down

Lame leg trussed with scarf and belt. I slung him
His panting chest.
No fear of mine
Hubby and I lifted him dirtly
Onto front of car - with twine.

Driving to the Exit
(Sign said - don't turn round)
We unloaded our cargo gently
Both hubby and I did not frown

As the smell of the wild excites us
and seeing knowone around
We consumated our effections
txting Longleat - once come down

Unbeknownst to my hubby and I
CCTV within Longleat is key
With head shots, tyre prints, number plate,
HTV showed we could not...
escape

I was once a Doctor
Treating the sick and the lame
I was once a DoctorAlas...
never again

I saved a life lesser than human
NO Human Dr can

I save a life of a Zebra
this is how
my pain
began

Life Lesson: Number 1 and 2

2008-12-12T06:38:00.000-08:00

boni pastoris est tondere pecus non deglubere
Learn Latin

Wicca'd Thoughts

2008-12-01T08:00:00.001-08:00

Alas and pity Miss Orla - yes i'm succumbered.

Wicca spirits are taunting and cruel.

I was asked to a small prison in Iceland to evict and evoke the Criminal Wicca spirits out of the prison's upper class convicts.

You see I know and their families know that it's not their rich children breaking laws - but wicked lower class 'Wicca' spirits possessing their grown strong children.

So one by one I invited each of these polo shirted, floppy haired, arrogant, strong willed, muscular men into my borrowed cell (they found me a double ensuite near the prison kitchen).

Sitting them opposite me - with my hands running from their shoulders to knees - via their rugby thighs - murmuring the anti-wicca chants that my Aunt Mooomoo had taught me on a weekend in Alberta in '82 - I felt a niggling fire lite up. A fizzing and tingling in all my pointy bits.

Tip of nose, little little toes, pouting lips, stirring hips.

My tongue kept licking, the lips I kept nibbling. I blushed, I rappidly blinked, my heart raced, I giggled.

A mighty Wicca curse. I nearlly fainted. My assistant offered to sit with me, or take me outside. No - I shouted - I will over come.

Then the strongest of the Wicca Demons came in - the demon was hidden in Janak - a 24 year old blonde man with fire in his eyes.

I got permission to cover the glass panel in the door so we were alone. I forced that Demon out of Janak. Thrown around the room - I was locked in a flaming furnace of Flesh and Spirit. The demonic howls left both our bodies - building to a total eviction of SPIRITS.

Janak slept afterwards - the rattling echo of that Wicca spirit may never leave me - but I know I did my duty to the full and earnt my £18,000 rightly.

Overcoming Self Obsession by Meditation

2008-11-27T03:50:00.000-08:00

Crime Watch Extra called me onto a particularly difficult crime reconstruction. It required two elderly lady actors, an ugly brutish male actor and 4 litres of wall paper paste.

The main issue for the Producers was the over-riding fear that came from the 'stars' regarding our location. When I say 'stars' I mean the actors. (If I used the word 'Star' in it's true sense I would just be referring to myself.)

I tackled their 'artistic' phobia of being in this Cavern - which luckily was the actual location of the original crime - aka Crime Scene.

Getting the 3 actors to press their whole bodies onto the curved wet wall of the cavern they began a meditation chant - you can hear this chant on my audio book 'Overcoming Self Obsession by Meditation' and read the chant words in my book ''Overcoming Self Obsession by Meditation pt 2' [Self Publication]

Once the actors had stop whimpering and were calmly breathing from their stamens the real fun began (of course I had predicted this turn of events however the catering truck staff were shocked into screaming like orphaned pups!!) .

Well as I took a large bite from a Fromage Baguette the spirits of the real Victims entered me in a whirlwind of choking dust and spit. My assistant described them as 'the singing embodiment of Macbeth's Weird Sisters - frothing at mouth, railing and raking. These granny demons sung maniacal hymns.

"...As surely as night follows day...." these two ladies who had been murdered - now brutally slaughtered these Holiest of songs.

- Ugly was keeping himself occupied with the Wallpaper paste - enjoying the variable viscosity/height differentiation of paste. An innocent pleasure that offered crew the gentle counter-balance to the horror of Killer Cavern and the Screaming granny Witches.

Half an hour after the Spirits tirade had stopped, and I was enjoying a good sup of tea - the Producers and I agreed - these women kind of asked for their brutal sleighing. Harsh perhaps. But if you'd heard their rendition of 'Little Donkey' you would understand.

Once again I have proved supreme - both in life and the after laugh.

Dear Lover No.9

2008-11-20T07:47:00.000-08:00

Dear Lover No.9,

I have admired you from afar. Last night that Afar turned into Amen.

How lucky and how beautiful am I? Yes Lover - i'm that lucky and i'm that beautiful.

Adieu,

O

Is it me?

2008-11-19T07:08:00.000-08:00

Terry Wogan's Togs may have coined the phrase 'is it me?' to describe the realisation that most people are smarter than the plebians in authority - however i'm talking about myself.

Is it me? Is it me? Is it me?

The answer dear reader.... No.

Singing Springstein Spirt is in an it's... i'm not going.

Confused dear reader? Well join the club. Ask yourselves punk... are you feeling lucky and 'Is it me?'.

It all began last night after an Ivy dinner. Sat with Russian Billionhairass - Plobdiv Sarah Shernburg and her crew... ooohhhh BORN IN THE USA, I WAS - BOOOORN IN THE USA

Credit Crunch - My £rse!

2008-10-22T08:09:00.000-07:00

I'm richer than normal - in every sense - including my hair.

Just finished reading Dr Dot's self-help book; "I'm Great, What's Your Problem??" and it rang so many bells.

It all began last night at the Ritz Carlton, where I performed for a small private group in the Louis XIV suite.

After being forced out of a Reggae Chanter by King Solomon - just as Solomon was recanting what Porac Burat (Host's 'Lover') should do with a baby to determine paternal ownership.... yes Solomon was slightly contradictory on what he had suggested 'back-in-the-day'...

Jennifer Jeezer shook my shoulders and screamed... "But the Banks will only secure £50,000 and i'm a millionairess... with expenses... Where should I put my money? What should I do? WHAT SAYETH THE SPIRITS?”

Well I couldn't feel sympathy... she smelt of Gin and obviously enjoys the pleasure of loose morals.

So I took a deep thought, pressed my temple and 'Huka'ed' her. Māori Moment. Straight from Ranji.

Translated into Pidgeon English she was informed that Credit Crunch 'Don Fect' soul, but ‘Now Soul is Red For Cept Mor' (basically invest more in enriching your life/soul with Knowledge and Wisdom)

The upshot was - She gave me 10,000 shares in Microsoft and a 5 year contract with 6 figures to give her a monthly sing-a-long-a-longally session.

Everyone's a winner.

BBC Employment - 'yes' - it's that good.

2008-10-16T05:48:00.000-07:00

Miss Orla... you've surprised yourself! A rare feat for a Psychic!

Acquiring a 1 month BBC contract - commissioned by BBC Executives to channel 'others' to inspire and teach.... them.. well - i'm godsmacked.

TVC (Television Centre) is a maze of 1970's inspired grey/brownness. None of your 80/90/Noughties attempt at slick/glamour. Yet it exudes glamour, entertainment, quality beliefs.

I'm hidden on the 3rd floor - in the Entertaiment corridor. Ok toilet/kitchen is the same thing and water/damp stains decorate the walls, floor and ceiling - holey building trinity... But i'm soaking up atmosphere - excitment- the past dreams and successes of so many people/souls - aiming to teach and entertain and inspire the masses - regardless of war, recession, life stuff...

Now i'm part of it/them... well i've always been, in this and my 'other' lives.

The commune of the place - everyone milling around, together - talent/workers/techies/suits.

I'm one of them - I aim to straddle them all,

Must dash - Singing Pyschics are anathenema to R&R (acronyms are law here)

Bob Hoskins - Not as small as you think

2008-09-24T08:00:00.000-07:00

Well it happened again. I was amazing.

As depicted in Ghost Busters, the spirits erupted from me in a multicolour rainbow of good and evil.

Was I scared? No! Of course not. My eyes rolled to the back of my head as I became the conduit for the ‘Other’.

Perhaps the spirit world was getting slightly rowdy after receiving its latest soul.

Bob Hoskins had organised a private function – everyone was masked – so who knows what greats and good gods were milling around.

The 'stage' was in the round – A dirty big hole 6ft deep. I stood alone – being bear'ed down on. Entering the trance was a relief.

Like hundreds of Opera Phantoms – the crowds chanted my favourite arcane sutra. ‘A string of Pearls from the mouths of damned love’ - the literal translation from the Egyptian Saite (never fails to trigger my ‘Other’. Bob had done as instructed and ensured everyone knew the Saite tune).

Carol – my trusted aide – tells me I became Blakey from the Buses. Through that human creation ‘killed’ off by TV execs I moved through spirit rainbow, meeting and fleetingly entered by Gengis Khan, Bo Derek, Jarvis Cocker, Mr Coca Cola and Mary Magdalene.

The personal revelations cannot for be specified – due to the bounding contract. However ‘Blakey’ singing Funk warned CERN enthusiasts to stay away, not to try the experiment and the next eclipse will be advent.

To book me for Wakes and Work Functions/Outings - contact the usual address.

Singing Food

2008-06-04T08:03:00.000-07:00

Hannah Glasse, the first Domestic Goddess - came to me.

What a frightfully aggressive woman. She forced me to sing Rock.

I was asked by Diane Abbott to an ‘Organic Food in East London’ seminar. I was the ‘After Dinner Speaker’ to over 400 delegates.

On finishing this so called ‘Organic’ ‘Dinner’ I was sucked into a Hannah Glasse trance (of course unbeknownst to me until exiting said trance).

Hannah Glasse was a Victorian cookbook writer – she wrote a cookbook that could be used by normal people (ie Middle Classes).

However on this evening Hannah Glasse had a vehement message – I was informed that the song Hannah Glasse got me to sing can be most likened to a mix of Def Leopard and Guns’n’Roses with a heavy dose of Gordon Ramsey.

Hanna’s anger seems to stem from her disappointment at our lack of decent food in this country – no doubt triggered by that evenings rawness of the vegetables, the complete lack of tasty offal, dry burnt steak, dreariness of pudding, burnt coffee, dried old cheddar and COMPLETE LACK of a good Claret or even Ale.

Only on finding myself in M&S 24hr being charged £29 for a slither of Salmon, bottle of Claret and Macadamia honeyed nuts did Hanna Glasse exit me.

I had my agent send Hanna Glasse’s apologies to Diane Abbott – who subsequently booked me for Boris Johnson’s ‘Welcome to Hackney’ party.

Spirits Enter me – Come and See – Try it for youself.

Last Night in Glittering Stone Henge

2008-05-28T06:09:00.000-07:00

Disciples,

At the auspicious gathering at the Druidic Stone Gallion I called upon the great spirits of Wind: Anemoi . As usual in late Spring Zephyrus quickly gathered around us, gathering the scents and souls of my guests and early Summer.

Singing at Maggie Biggerswaite who recently lost her cat, we got her aunt Violet Biggerswaite to give the exact location of the moggie – Boo Boo. Violet,dying only last July, was surprisingly vivid for one so soon departed. My experience tells me it takes a good 3 years to pass through the Terrestrial Kingdom especially for divorcees. Perhaps her charity work helped.

Doreen Letterworth made contact with her father. He died before she was born however the Song he sung for her mentioned key ornaments in Doreen’s house which only he would have known about. While in my SINGING © trance I did get a sense that her father had a wicked sense of humour. He was keen to make everything rhyme with a certain function. I gently warned Doreen that her father could be mischievous and probably hid keys and TV remotes. “That explains so much” she nodded back.

Craig Fnarley of Woking got an unusual premonition from a future spirit. (This is a Spirit that has yet to choose a mortal form.) Through a form of Belly Dancing and Rhythmic guttural singing, the spirit – known as a child of Loviatar – told Craig that his hair would affect future job prospects. Hopefully hippy Craig takes head.

Welcome

2008-04-08T07:45:00.000-07:00

I am Miss Orla, the worlds GREATEST Singing Psychic.

I have become a musical vessel for the spirit world. Soul, Choral, Jazz, Oriental, Rock, Bel Canto, Blues, Folk... this worlds and the 'other' world's music rises forth within me and with it the words and wisdom of your loved ones.

My Story

As a young child I had the ability to communicate with people from the past by simply touching a loved item or someone very close to them. I saw it gave comfort to others and I enjoyed channelling advice and support (and sometimes even betting tips!) from the ‘other’ side.

I thought at that time everyone had this gift.

As I developed into a woman, I realised what I could do was rare. I got scared, self-conscious and overwhelmed by this gift and blocked it from mind. Wishing to be ‘normal’.

But then my father was taken from me suddenly. I’d had premonitions but dismissed them as waking nightmares ‘DayMares’. I couldn’t believe that my loving father would be taken – but he was.

He hadn’t told my mother where his Will was. His business partner began taking money from my fathers company. The bank had told my mother they were repossessing the house. My mother and I were scared. Not only were we stricken with grief, we were also losing everything.

I decided that I had to call upon the gift I was born with. The gift that had been passed down, through our family for hundreds of years.

Surrounded by my father’s favourite items: football shirt, adored Mug, The Who album – Odds and Sods. Plus my mother holding my hands – I called to my father.

When I was a young child, when I spoke to the ‘other’ world, a warm feeling would pass over me and a translucent shimmering door appeared. From that door spirits that took a human shimmering form would come, sit before me and talk. They didn’t have mouths, just waves of warmth and understanding would enter me as they spoke to me.

But now, when calling for my father, my heart full of sorrow and my face covered in tears – nothing came to me. I just felt hollow and alone.

I rested my head on my mother’s lap and cried. My mother stroked my hair and hummed. My sobs became subdued and I began to hum with her.

The hum turned into words. The same words my father would speak. His same accent and the way he spoke.

My mother and I smiled at each other. I sang his words. It was as if he was speaking through me. I sang tales of when my father had scored the winning goal at school, and the first time my father had seen my mother.

My mother suddenly laughed and froze – she called out “How do you know that Miss Orla?” Later I discovered that only my mother and father had known that secret about their first kiss.

My song responded to her, as my father always did and then I sang of the exact location of the Will. My mother rushed to the Pantry and sure enough in the Christmas Cake Tin, on the top shelf was the Will and Business/Bank account details.

To cut this long and happy story short I will just say my mother and I kept our house and my mother now runs the business successfully.

I went on and repeated this singing gift, accidentally with my friends and family.

Through word of mouth the demand has become very high.

So now I have been persuaded to bring this gift to everyone at my Psychic Singing gatherings.

Keep posted for upcoming dates.