Frankie Lassut

The Feeeel Innit! (eBook, ePUB)

• Format: ePub

Produktbeschreibung

Your quality of life depends on how you feel about things. Oh yes it does.
I get fed up of people asking: "how do you know?" But anyway, the answer to that one is because I do.
That means, if you feel good about most things, you're laughing. Most people misunderstand and feel lousy most of the time due to the circumstances they 'suffer', not knowing that they create them themselves. There is of course a way around this and it's written in thousands of books available to you. Books?! You say. Well yes, but if somebody from the other side of the world wants to talk to you, what better way than a book? Published by some kind soul. They make some money, which is a good reason to hate them!
This book is about feeling good about the thing nearest to you, your house. Where you live. Isn't it great to keep it clean and tidy? But, millions of people hate household chores! In my mind that's insanity, how can you hate keeping the place where you live clean? There again, if you call them 'chores', what do you expect?
There's a story about a fairy who is bounding around a garden full of the joys of spring, flowers in their hair. Another fairy says "come in, it's chores time!"
The fairy suddenly goes into a slump, shoulders down, body language, ugh.
So, are chores joy killers?
Yes, if you follow your conditioning. If you don't, no, of course they aren't.
This is little, itsy-bitsy book about keeping that space clean and feeling good about it.
There! Done it! Now I can have a bottle of brandy and watch TV.
I must clean the curry off the TV screen; but I hate cleaning.

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Produktdetails

• Verlag: Frankie Lassut
• Erscheinungstermin: 9. Juli 2019
• Englisch
• ISBN-13: 9780463753446
• Artikelnr.: 72900560

Autorenporträt

I am the one being shaved; the other one Nim, is is a looney bin now!
I went to see a psychic years ago who ended up as my girlfriend; she didn't see that one coming! But she was extremely honoured. However it ended badly i.e. it rained heavily as I buried her body and I got soaked. No! You don't really want to hear about it, it's depressing; I was joking about the burial. She told me that I was to uncover a talent I had ... Well, another psychic told me that as the first one was dead; I was lying when I said I was lying. Nothing happened for quite a while. Suddenly I realised I needed a 'job' quite badly as I was beginning to drink halves. No, not a boob 'job'! I went for the cheap option i.e. the surgeon gave some socks to shove up my jumper when I go out. I got a 'job' (have you got boobs on your mind?) because someone told me that bus-driving was easy because you just sit on your butt and turn the wheel. She was about six, a wise woman ... that's called an oxymoron. Fantastic! I thought get the job and in a couple of days I'd be driving all the nice passengers around and about seeing all the sights for a fraction of the cost of a tour bus; and we'd have a roof in case it rained. Easy! First of all though there was the training; and I entered hell.

I was born in Cumbria in a little ex-iron ore mining town called Millom. It was only small, a one- horse town; the horse was called Peg. It had a pedigree name too, but I can't remember it at the moment: Peggy Suss? However, I got fed up and left as I was the only man in a town full of women and they were all lesbys; I've always been lucky. I went to Blackpool and attended the photographic college. I then moved to Coventry and met the psychic who would tell me what was going to happen. I could say now that the rest is history. Well it is, but obviously not history as that's all made up anyway. Then I got the job bus-driving, which as I said is easy 'you just sit on your butt and turn the wheel'. The bus station management weren't pleased that she had said that though, so she was tried and sent to Guantanamo Bay; they have a section for young kids who are bad to the bone.

The job was so mad that I thought it would be a good idea to write out some posters and stick them all on the wall of the bus station. The other drivers enjoyed them, but the management tore them down, the badstars (that's an anagram of astards +B). I carried on and ended up with a manuscript for a book, which, by ...