sling that mud

so, we're running up to elections here and of course the mud-slinging has begun and god I wish politics could be more than about mudslinging but there you go. What does it matter what a poor illustrator and mother expatriated to Azeitão (that sounds exotic, huh?) thinks about politics?


Do you have your own swear words? I swear an awful lot. I'm a foul mouthed horror. But, obviously, I don't want to swear in front of my impressionable little darlings. So I have my own dictionary of expletives that aren't expletives. They change on a regular basis. Sometimes they are ex-boyfriends' and/or enemies/arch-nemesi's (that's plural for arch-nemesis... but then you can't have more than one of them CAN YOU?) names. Sometimes they are gutteral noises. Sometimes they are words like Schickelgrüber. But this year, so far, I have plumped for Kinshasa! (the capital of the Democratic Republic of Congo) and Sankha Guha! (pronounced. shunka gua... he's a journo with the beeb-eecee). I'm not entirely sure why these are my expletives of choice. But they are.

It's been a long day.