So that's the full menu Madam?

Bit of a miserable week for me as I was laid low with an attack of flu-bris – the hubris caused when you think you have defeated the flu and instead it comes back worse than ever. So, coughing, sneezing etc I have been stuck indoors for the last seven days except for a brief visit from Clown Julie’s comedy partner Charlie who told me all about their pie-flinging encounter with mature glamour puss, Miss Jones…

There’s only one thing disappointing about meeting Charlie. You really want him to arrive in a miniature car with every panel painted a different primary colour, which comes to a halt with a massive explosion blowing the doors off and making foam squirt out of the radiator. That’s what clown cars do. Sadly hire cars don’t and as Charlie is by day a serious scientist and he was en route from meetings in London to ‘something he couldn’t talk about’ in Finland, that was what he was drivng.

After picking up one of Julie frocks and his clown shoes from the studio (as you can see from the picture above taken from their film in our downloads section you need a big car for those alone!), we popped down the pub where the ‘serious scientist’ was far more impressed by the St Austell bitter that was on sale. We started to chat. Now Charlie isn’t the boastful sort, but even so conversations with him do tend to leave you feeling somewhat inferior. As if the casually-mentioned trip to Finland wasn’t impressive enough, Charlie had just returned from the Canadian Arctic where he’d been living in a tent eating such Inuit delicacies as seal eyes and raw liver (apparently they like it that way cos it’s warm and wet). I began to see why the beer was so impressive.
Entertainment was a bit short out in the Arctic as well. It was a choice between watching the Inuit TV station featuring an Eskimo Blue Peter that taught kids how to trap, skin and disembowel groundhogs or editing a film of Julie and Miss Jones getting messy on his laptop. Tough call – not!
For those who have yet to visit her website, Miss Jones is a mature model who specialises in what could best be described as 60s-style glamour (lots of stockings and sussies) who’d seen Julie at work and fancied taking part in a clown-style pie-throwing routine with her. Charlie had been asked to help shoot it and edit it in return for use of the messy bit of the film – which we hope might be coming to Splosh! Downloads in the future. Julie was doing it purely for the chance to have a pie fight with another woman!

In many ways, it went very well. Miss Jones proved a natural comedienne and literally couldn’t stop laughing all the time she was pieing Julie. She was also good at taking the pies as well, her facial expressions being exactly the comic style they both love. The only difficult bit was Charlie and Miss Jones’ photograher co-operating on the two camera shoot. Apparently this turned into a scene more like the Charlie character we know and love with them arguing over who was filming what, when to start and whether to stop. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear… It had more than an element of the Chuckle Brothers about it, especially as the cameras emitted a loud ‘bing-bong’ every time they started, all of which had to be removed in the edit. However, whilst the clowning around behind the cameras was a bit exasperating, the clowning around in front of them was extremely arousing. Fingers slipped everywhere as the two ladies got covered in creamy pie, and Julie was in messy heaven. Miss Jones seemed pretty happy too.

As I said, we hope we can bring you this film in the future, and of course more Julie adventures with Gilly, Sammy and Co when Charlie returns from whatever remote spot he is working in next. I did wonder (in light of the famous shoe bomber incident) what airport security would make of Charlie’s oversized red footwear. Perhaps he is already languishing in some jail being waterboarded by US soldiers. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear…
PS Just thought of this…How can you tell an Iraqi clown? He has the only car that doesn’t blow up…

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Well for about four weeks nothing happened at all. We sent them an invoice and heard not a peep. Then two days ago we had an e-mail from the features department saying that they didn’t get the photo from our website at all! We assured them that it had only appeared (legally) on our site and UMD (where it had our copyright logo on it) and if they did find it somewhere else could they tell us so we can berate them?. No, they said they got it from an agency! A few enquiries later and we discover they are talking about a different photo!
“No, not the clean one, the baked beans one!” we protested.
A few hours later…
“Oh yes, that’s yours…”
Oh good, at last, an admission!
“So you’ll be paying our invoice?”
“No, that’s a news picture, not features. You need to invoice their department….blah-de-blah…”
So we start again.

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Sweet Sue is a regular weekend drinker in The Fountain (my regular pub for new readers) and is what can best be described as an ‘affectionate drunk’. Happily married to a man so calm and unemotional he makes Stephen Hawking look overly exuberant (and way too smiley), she likes to spend the evening drinking lager and then cuddling her friends, of which I am about fifth in line. Sometimes it goes slightly further but I’m not complaining – it’s not exactly a chore, although the small price for a bit of bodily contact is a lengthy diatribe about her week at work. Last week however I noticed she was coughing a lot and she admitted to feeling a bit odd. I made a mental note to try and resist any physical temptation as I had a busy week ahead. Unfortunately that note got lost in the wash of several pints of Old Empire, so as well as sharing all her stories from her working week by Tuesday I was sharing her symptoms.
At that point I did feel rough – hot, sore throat, cough, knackered – but nothing that couldn’t be put down to a cold. However I made the mistake of going on the NHS website which in turn sent me to the National Panic-Inducing one I mentioned earlier. “Do you have a temperature? Sore throat? Blocked nose? Cough?” it demanded. “Yes,” I replied unable to qualify it with “but not a very bad one”. “You have swine flu,” it proclaimed. “Stay at home. Get a friend to go to the doctors and pick up Tamiflu tablets. Your code number is…. Tell them to bring identification etc etc.” It was like something from those Protect & Survive nuclear attack broadcasts of the 60s. I was a casualty in the Slight Cold War!
By Thursday I didn’t feel any worse and besides Sammy was booked to do a private session at the studio so I went there, did that (see above) and since the studio is near the chemists I also decided to pick up my Tamiflu in person (I didn’t need them but as you only get one dose, I thought it best to have them ready for later in the winter when I might).
“I’ve come to pick up my Tamiflu,” I said to the middle-aged lady behind the counter.
“You shouldn’t be out!” she admonished severely and scurried away so quickly I genuinely thought she had gone into hiding, and was now cowering in some germ-resistant bunker. But it turned out she was getting a form to fill in which I did. By now, the other customers in the shop were looking at me like a plague victim, so I waited outside. As I did, I saw the assistant wiping the pen I’d used and her counter with a wet wipe! Blimey! Everything I touch is toxic!
A few minutes later my Tamiflu were brought out to me (they clearly didn’t want me back in their shop) and I took them home. I haven’t used them. I still feel a bit crap but if this IS swine flu it is milder than most colds and a lot less debilitating than a migraine. If it isn’t, then can I cast doubt on the official statistics that the number of swine flu victims has ‘leapt’ from 3,000 to 5,000 this week. I bet a lot of those are like me. Mild cold sufferers who have no way of differentiating between the two on their website.
And yes I have been a bit public spirited. I am keeping out of the pub when it is crowded which meant missing Sarah’s birthday bash last night (boo) and the Fetish Night (double boo – one for each boob!). But I shall go in for the quiz on Sunday when there are only about 20 people around. Even if I am passing on fatal swine flu, a cull of pub trivia geeks would, quite frankly, be a public service!

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Things did not start well! First of all the white nurse’s uniform I ordered from Ebay claiming to be a size 12 turned out to be more like a large 14 so slipping into it I was disappointed that it wasn’t a bit tighter round the waist and boobs. Now I like ‘full’ clothes for getting messy in (can’t be doing with skimpy outfits, I like the feel of wet, heavy fabric against my skin) but even so I felt this looked a bit baggy. But if nothing else it was a realistic uniform not the Ann Summers variety, though the stockings are strictly non-NHS.
So I did the best I could with it, tightened the belt round my waist and went into the garden to put my dustsheet down. Oh No! Disappointment No 2. My neighbour who is about 105 and a total recluse had suddenly decided to hold a garden party! The old sod never sees a soul – now there were about 20 people next door eating and drinking (if you’ve seen my wet pictures on the Free House you will have seen his knackered umbrella poking above the fence – well today it was open for the first time this century!). As soon as they saw me they smiled and waved, and I think I heard someone say to my neighbour how handy it must be having a nurse live next door. I was tempted to give them a flash of my stocking tops but they were all quite old – I didn’t want to cause any fatalities.
So, now, despite a lovely warm sunny day, I was going to have to do my three gallon gunging indoors! This presented two problems. Firstly where? and secondly would the camera be able to do what I wanted in flash? The first problem was easily sorted. My son has left home now and his spare room is waiting to be redecorated, so I lay my dustsheet down there. The second looked more complicated. I am no camerawoman and it took a while to find out how to take a sequence of pics on timer with flash. I thought I’d set it up right but apparently not. The clean photos were all too rubbish to use. I also discovered that you have to stay a lot stiller for flash pics for some reason. As a result, sorry no pristine uniform pics!

I opted for my bucket of pink slime first! I’d made all the gunge the night before after buying that off Ebay as well (simply look under ‘gunge’ and several people sell it, in some cases ready coloured). You mix it with about four litres of warm water, adding the water slowly and stirring a lot. And I mean a lot. I am glad I hadn’t done it that morning, it was quite tiring. I then left it in the airing cupboard next to my knickers to get warm and for the bubbles to subside so it was nice and smooth.

Even in the unsexy surroundings of my spare bedroom, worrying about the camera, I was getting butterflies in the tummy – that lovely feeling you have when you are about to be naughty. I lifted the bucket and started pouring…mmmmmm! The gunge was great. Blood temperature and thick it flattened my hair and fell over my face. I poured some more. Oooooh now it was running down my dress and without thinking I undid it to allow the slime to slip inside to my – oh! – bra! Damn! I’d forgotten to take it off, and it was a good one too! However, it didn’t prevent my nipples from realising what was going on and responding accordingly – naughty things!

Being translucent, the pink slime meant I could reset the camera without wiping my eyes, but my next colour would be more of a problem! For some reason, the blue slime – this was more of a gunge than a slime – had mixed rather more thickly. So as I went back and poured the first big dollop everything disappeared from view! Suddenly I had no idea where the camera was or when it would flash which made the photography bloody difficult!


The good news was that it felt FANTASTIC. I love that heavy feeling in my hair and over my face so I was beginning to get seriously worked up! I poured more and more, forgetting about the camera completely, rubbing it inside my uniform till my bra was soaked and my boobs superbly slimy. I think you can tell I was beginning to have some real fun now. It’s a good job there’s no sound on this blog – you might be shocked!!

It’ was then the next problem arose… One of the reasons gunge feels good is because it is so slippery. Unfortunate this then makes the floor slippery, especially in stockings and with my hands now slimed up from fondling my messy tits, getting to the camera and setting it up again made me look like Bambi on the ice. So from now on, I decided it was time to do everything on the floor – which had the added advantage of giving my stockings a lovely gooey going-over as well!

It was now the time I was looking forward to most. I love black mess – treacle, oil, you name it and the black gunge (far too heavy to be called slime) had mixed beautifully to a gorgeous glossy mass. Sod the photos – this was going over my head non-stop however shit the pictures!

And that’s exactly what I did!


Wooooooooo! It felt wonderful. My whole head was engulfed in thick black mess. I couldn’t see, could hardly hear or even breathe. It ran down every inch of me and my pussy responded at once. Suddenly I was warm and moist inside and outside my undies. The dress was heavy with three gallons of gloop and hugging my body like a wet bear I just wanted to roll around and frig myself silly, or get the dildo out and fuck myself into a stupour. The only problem was I had no idea where I’d put them and I couldn’t see a thing! Damn, perhaps a man is useful afterall. So instead, after sliding my hand inside the warm, wet confines of my knickers for a little play, I staggered of to find the camera!

Sadly I had to wipe my eyes to set up again but I still had some of the blue gunge left, so I decided it was time to let go and have some fun. I had mastered the camera on auto now, the uniform was feeling warm and wet against my body, so go for it, gal!



I poured the blue goo right over my head and that was enough. Giggling like a cross between a silly little girl and a muck-and-fuck-loving whore (which is exactly what I am!), I rubbed slime into every bit of my body, the slime-sodden clothes held me tight like the arms of of a big messy man – and one that never lets me down! I rolled in the slime, I tried to fuck the slime, I even tried to spank slime into my arse (I needed a little bit of pain right then) playing with myself all the way. It was just wonderful.



By the end, I was messy and more sexed up than I’ve been in ages. Mess can do that. It turns an ordinary woman into a slut or at least it turns this one. Right then, lying in a pool of goo, my half open clothes filled with thick slime, my hair matted and my make-up long gone, all I wanted was a good rough fuck right there in the mess.

But sadly there was nobody there to give it to me. Perhaps I should have gone next door…

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Naturally, being a train fan I managed to pick a route that made the journey as tedious as possible! I found the one train a day that winds its way from Brighton to Cardiff (via Bristol) stopping at just about anywhere with a discernable pulse. Armed with some overpriced sandwiches from Brighton Station, I squeezed on board the tiny train for the near four-hour journey. Now as I said, this train (catering for early rush hour in Brighton, late rush hour in Southampton, then early revellers in Bath and Bristol) stopped EVERYWHERE and the female conductor guard was obliged to announce every station it stopped at, every time it stopped. So in order to fit this between stations the poor woman rushed through the list so quickly it sounded more like a Welsh place name than a route. Then to add to her woes (and ours!) the only two toilets on the train broke so she was being constantly harrassed by men, women and children desperate for a wee making her even more fraught. Not her best day at work, I was thinking. Thankfully, my bladder didn’t fill till the train emptied at Bristol. Three cheers for a 50-year-old prostate!

After a short trip with the world’s most miserable cabby (“There’s nothing going on here, mate! No students, no money. Waste of my bleeding time” he said of the city hosting a Banksy exhibition that had completely packed every hotel). I arrived at the fabulously glamourous Premier Inn in Haymarket. Now I could do lots of cheap hotel jokes but frankly the Premier was fine. The room was perfectly good, the shower excellent, and the TV had Freeview (a luxury unknown on our bit of the South Coast). Best of all as I discovered reading the endless bumph they clutter every flat surface with, it had an “All You Can Eat” Breakfast which didn’t finish till 11am! Now that’s the sort of challenge I’m prepared to get up early for! By mid-day I had worked my way through the fruit juice, Honey Nut Corn Flakes, eggs, bacon, sausages, tomato, mushrooms, tea and toast and was set up for a day on the piss with Mike and the sploshers.
Just time first for a quick pint before setting off – and the start of what became a running theme for the weekend. At 1pm the bar of my hotel was packed with pissed-up Welsh women wearing very little except feathers and bunny ears on a hen party. As I had to squeeze past the excitable rabble who were posing for pictures, I offered to take their shot so they could all be in it. Much giggling was followed by the offer of a chance for me to appear in a pic with the bride to be in green tutu and L plates (her not me!). More Welsh laughter. This was merely the start. By the end of the night, it seemed just about everyone in Bristol was either on a hen or stag night and in fancy dress! The streets were packed with hysterical women (often Welsh) dressed as naughty nurses and policewomen. Latert as we sat drinking, Darth Vadar rode past on a pushbike (it seems even the Death Star has gone green!). I felt decidedly underdressed!

Horts Bar in Bristol was the venue Mike had chosen and it is ideal for these sort of meets. It is big enough to cater for a meeting of 20 people without them even noticing. In fact the toilets were further away than the hotel! Mike and Sammy-Jane were in the corner when I arrived and soon after people were turning up from all over the country, many of whom I hadn’t met or hadn’t seen for years (15 in Andy’s case). As forum members will know they are real ‘characters’. For instance, freed of his keyboard and surreal spelling Andy123 talks so quickly and continuously that it is best to treat him like a radio playing in the background – dipping in and out of listening when something interesting arises. However don’t expect to contribute. If you want to join in or express an opinion it is probably best to send him a text.

Mike Nomic by contrast opts for the Grumpy Git persona, especially towards people who don’t drink real ale (at one point he even suggested a meet purely for people who drink proper beer). Whilst Andy’s conversation is a war of attrition, Mike goes for the sudden explosion – a deafening Bristol bellow that rings round the room. So if you go, don’t be surprised to find your quiet conversation suddenly interrupted by a West Country Brian Blessed yell of ‘WEASEL PISS!” if he spots you’ve opted to drink Fosters.

On the professional front, Andy brought his workmate Jammed whose lovable dumb puppy looks hide the fact that he is really a sharp-brained businessman. No, I’m lying. This was a man who accidentally locked into his own toilet for 45 minutes that morning. Eden and Jon, fresh from their Canadian adventures, provided some much needed youth and glamour, and Janet and Nick (who appear on our Mad Macs pages) popped along too representing the more mature messy modelling scene. If you sometimes feel you’re alone, Nick’s your man. He knows all about being part of an oppressed minority – he was a fan of John Major. And Dirtydids popped in to despite a run of poor health. It was good to see him on his feet again and still determined to take pictures when he can.
Richard and Sploshman are almost professionals in the number of sessions they have done on the forum and it was good to meet Richard for the first time. He is far more jolly in real life, nothing like Victor Meldrew at all, and Sploshman is just too cool for words. Rich D Rich had travelled in all the way from New Zealand. I hope he had toilets! PleasePieMeMistress, Aufpet, Gungemegood. Bondageboiir and Thrillseeker completed the line-up of guys I hadn’t met – and one or two were very complimentary about our stuff which made the trip worthwhile. I was nearly as excited as when a beautifully restored Bristol Lodekka open topped bus (circa 1963) from Minehead went past full of yet more waving women on a hen party. Naturally we all waved back. Then I watched the pub people’s faces change as they realised I was weird enough to be more interested in the bus!

At about 7pm, we left the pub full of real ale and ‘weasel piss’ (what is it about weasels along with gnats that gives them such famously bland-tasting urine? And how does anyone know?) to go to an Italian restaurant I can’t remember the name of. Inside, guess what? Another party of women, this time with Mickey Mouse ears, rather surprised to be gazumped by our larger and frankly more unruly group. The alcohol had worked its wicked magic and so the conversation became increasingly bizarre. Eden told a restaurant silencing story about finding a human turd on an Underground train which led to speculation whether it was better to shit yourself or take your trousers down and defecate in full view of the passengers. The Mickey Mouse Club looked a little perturbed at this, especially when I did my impression of the station tannoy announcing “MIND THE CRAP! MIND THE CRAP!” It was then that Darth Vadar cycled past. No, he did. Honest! I wasn’t the only one who saw him…
Paranoid about being lost in a strange city somewhat pissed, I then called a cab to go about five yards to my hotel. As ever I rushed out not saying goodbye to enough people or thanking them for an excellent day. Thank you all. Got back to the hotel just in time for a cheap double scotch. Sadly no sign of the Welsh women…
…Until the next morning! As I drifted down to breakfast, the Welsh ladies were checking out. Their numbers had swollen by two inflatable men which the bride carried with her suitcase as if it was the latest Louis Vitton accessory. After (a rather smaller) breakfast, I too signed out and shared a cab to the station with a couple who had travelled all the way from Bolton to see the Banksy exhibition only to be told their was a six hour queue to get in. So they went on a boat trip instead. I asked if they were tempted to spray something rude on the wall of the gallery. They smiled weakly. My timing’s shit when I’m hungover.
Back on the train and First Great Western came good. Dead on time all the way with a choice of toilets and a totally comprehesible guard. Fortunately there was some entertainment… Two seats along was a very posh family trying to keep their children entertained by each of them picking animals beginning with a certain letter and letting the others guess what it was. Finally it was the 7-year-old boy’s turn. “I am an animal beginning with E,” he said proudly. The others started guessing. Elephant, emu, eagle…everything they suggested met with a no. Finally the exhausted family gave up. “OK what are you?” asked the mother wearily.”For heavens sake, Mummy, it’s easy. I’m an echidna!” A surreal end to a surreal three days.
Thanks for letting me be there.

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Welcome to the wacky, wet-and-messy world of SPLOSH! Here you’ll find everything your messy heart (and other parts!) desires from silly slapstick sketches to seriously sensual sploshing – on download, on DVD, or online in our free-to-use gallery & TV station, Channel Free.

Not only that, but you can chat and share your experiences & photos with fellow sploshers at our fun, friendly forum – or find out what we’ve been up complete with behind-the-scenes stories at our Soggy Blog.

We want you to have as much mucky fun as we do, so jump in and join me in a world where the custard is always warm and a big wet pie in the face is the only way to say “I love you”!

Come on, guys & girlies! You know you want to. Let me have it!

Keep it Coming!

Hayley x x x

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Katie is not just a sweet , great-looking girl – as this cleaner picture of her shows…

….she just loves getting messy and is a fantastically good sport. As well as appearing with Gilly on Graham Norton, she has been stuck in the stocks, pelted with pies, covered in chocolate, spanked – and this week pelted with even more pies, custard, baked beans and (next week) deluged with five different flavours of thick cake mix gunge! A real trooper! So if anyone deserves to get the £30,000 prize it’s her – not some airhead model who’ll blow it all on one designer handbag.

So vote for her now.
Simply go to www.fhm.com/honeys/katiegreen and vote for her there or you can text your vote by sending Honey Katie (with a space between the two) to 86145. Texts cost just 15p each plus your standard network rate (scarcely an Ant & Dec-style rip off).
So how did a pretty, splosh-loving girl get to be noticed by FHM? Well, it might just be her interview technique. Applying for the Hot Honey contest she was granted an interview after being asked on her application form to describe herself in three words. Naturally, she ignored ‘bubbly’, ‘beautiful’, ‘caring’, ‘loyal’ etc and went for ‘slim, sexy and psychotic’! And got in. Then at the interview itself when they tried to catch her out with one of those silly questions – in this case “How would you dispose of a dead body?” – instead of clamming up, she smiled sweetly and said, “First I’d chop it up then feed it to the pigs. Then I’d kill the pigs and make you eat the the evidence through the medium of bacon buttiess!” Not your average model’s reply.

We love her – and you will too in the next two weeks updates at www.gillysillyhouse.com – so get voting. Otherwise, remember, she knows how to dispose of your remains!

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When Gilly arrived at Hydee’s house to pick her up and take her to the studio, the versatile model (who is a trained dancer, stilt walker and plumber!) was still in bed. So, did she rush to get ready for the drive to St Leonards? Did she hell! She turned up in her pyjamas! It took a couple of big mugs of coffee before she changed out of her PJs and into the mad character in Gillyrella but once she was awake she was brilliant.
We had completely forgotten that this was Hydee’s first experience of being covered in anything other than shaving foam – and during the film she gets deluged in several buckets of bright coloured sponge mix. How did she find it?

She loved it!
“I loved the cake mix!” she enthused. “It tastes lovely. Much nicer than shaving foam!”
Well, now we know, Hydee, there’ll be plenty more to come! If you can keep awake long enough!

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