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I had my eyes tested last September and had to have old lady varifocals. The optician said she wasn’t happy with some kind of shadow on my optic nerve and she wanted it checked out at Bradford Royal Infirmary.  She said she’d send me a referral letter and I was to wait for an appointment letter.

Fast forward to January and I’d heard nothing, so I  contacted the optician again.  She said I was the fourth patient she’d referred who was yet to hear anything from BRI so she was going in personally to have a stern word. (A woman after my own heart).

Cue last week and a message left for me asking to call BRI for an appointment. which I did on Monday morning.  What a carry on that was! 

Did I know which eye it was?  No.  Did I know what the problem was? No – something about a shadow.  Did I have a copy of the optician’s letter? No – it was sent direct to BRI so they should have a copy.  I was then, somewhat disturbingly, told “Well that was last year now love, we won’t have it anywhere now”.  When I said that it was only September and had not yet been actioned so surely it would be on file somewhere.  No – apparently not!

Eventually I got an appointment for this morning so I asked for some kind of email or text confirmation so I could book leave of absence from work.  Nope. Apparently they don’t so that either.  FFS!

Anyway, I was approved for the leave of absence regardless of having no paperwork to prove it.  At home, I made the mistake of googling the symptoms and was then convinced I had the makings of a brain tumour and was almost certainly going blind.  I looked on ebay for eye-patches and wondered if I’d need some kind of magical 360 number on a strap like Mad Eye Moody in Harry Potter.  I polled the staffroom asking if people would rather go blind or deaf?  I opted for blind, as I’d at least still be able to listen to music and you wouldn’t know if you looked like shit or not.

So off I set this morning.


After going through the usual round of “What’s the smallest line you can read?” etc I had to have a shedload of drops in my eyes then go and sit in the waiting room for half an hour where I was unable to continue reading my book and struggled hard to focus on Homes under the Hammer.

These drops might dilate your pupils a bit he said.

A bit? 

Fookin L!!

After – at least the huge pupes detract from the huge eye bags


Hello! The early 90’s called.  Your pals Billy and Gary are already on it and they insist you bring Vicks and a whistle!



Delighted as I was to hear that there was no shadow on my optic nerve and at worst I had one eye gozzier than the other (already knew that), I found myself blinded when I stepped outside.




I got back to work after squinting my way across Bradford and fortunately wasn’t teaching this afternoon, but working with small groups doing maths boosters.  A friend lent me her sunglasses she had in the car and I spent the afternoon rocking the Roy Orbison look.  Strangely the children appeared not to register the shades because I’d blown their minds by having my hair loose for the first time since September.  This seemed to detract from the Stevie Wonders and it was 10 minutes before any of them noticed I had them on!

I wonder what extreme way I can get out of work for half a day next time?  There’s a mole on my boob that looks like a cock and balls that could probably do with a closer inspection.  (And no, I won’t be posting any pictures of that!)

Look after yourselves y’all!

Ciao Ciao Xx



Fuck dry January. All hail Ginuary

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Well dry January lasted until Wednesday the 3rd when I went back to work.  I held off at least until I got home but was two gins in by 9pm.


A short week indeed, but am already knackered and considering alternative career prospects.
I’m stuck though aren’t I?  I’ll end up like some kind of disillusioned, wizened, bitter old Yoda figure stamping library books in a corner and listening to KS1 reading about fucking Biff & Chip for the eleventy billionth time.. The children will remind me that I used to teach their parents and dad wants to know if I’m still a bitch.

I doubt by then I’ll have the energy…



chin chin for gin Xx

Bring on 2018 – I’m ready.

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There’s been a lot of stuff in the news about 2017 being just as shit as 2016 but with less dead celebs.  This year the celebs have survived but have all been arrested for historical sex pest allegations.

I, on the other hand have had a great year, and that’s even with having to have 3 months off work with mental issues.

I’ve been to America, passed my swim instructor course, been to Tenerife and Shambala. I’ve hunted ghosts and laughed lots in the dark and learned to finally not sweat the small stuff (and I’ve farted in an oubliette) 😁 

So to all (both) of you out there, I wish you just as a fab a 2018 as my 2017 and may you remain unmolested by Hollywood glitterati.

So let’s end the year with a selection of memes containing my favourite C word.

Chin Chin. Xx

Festive Family Times

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What a great Christmas I’ve had! 

Kept having these weird feelings that it might be my last.  No idea why.  Naturally I trust my insight is incorrect (like that time I was convinced I was going to win the Readers Digest jackpot draw on my birthday in 1992) but, just in case, I was determined to enjoy every last element of it.  And I have.
I’ve seen about 2 dozen Christmas films, including Elf, 3 times and the classic National Lampoon Christmas Vacation, twice (“
Save the neck for me Clark”).  I’ve embraced the mince pie, soaked up the Christmas Eve carol service at the village church at my folks’, drunk advocaat for breakfast and played shit loads of board games.  I wasn’t going to let anything spoil it.  Not even the fact that there is no longer a Turkish delight in a box of Milk Tray or Dairy Box (WTF?) or that there were no Ritz crackers at my folks’ or that I didn’t get stuffing again on Christmas Day because only the meat eaters seemed to get it.

It began on Saturday when we took the train to Chester.  Negotiated Manchester on foot between stations without getting too sidetracked.  Mum asked us to meet her in M&S foodhall in Chester when we arrived.  I though perhaps it may’ve been quieter to meet in Mecca during the Hajj, but actually, it wasn’t nearly as mental in there as I had anticipated.



We were at The Moss within the hour and I had no plans of going anywhere further than the pub and the church on Christmas Eve for at least 3 days!  


Pondering how the tree gets decorated

My uncle soon arrived and we had an evening of board gaming.  Much to the Childerbeast’s dismay.  Not because they didn’t want to play, but because it was like games night at Twilight Towers Home for the Elderly or One Flew Over the Bloody Cuckoo’s Nest.  Colour blind, long and short sighted over 45 year olds trying to make sense of the instructions on the QI game or the colours on the die in Trivial Pursuits.

Can I get a For Fuck’s Sake over here?


My brother and his lady arrived on Christmas Eve and after tea we all walked into the village for the annual “You WILL sing carols about a religion you don’t follow, because it’s festive” shizzle.  I had to endure it as a teenager.  Now I shall pass the tradition on.  This year was one of the mildest years ever.  I’ve almost had frostbite in years past, stood amongst the gravestones.




My youngest niece fell asleep.  My youngest daughter refused to join in whatsoever and sat on a tomb with a face liked a smacked arse.  No doubt to the amusement of my mother who was probably thinking that what goes around comes around.


Quick snifter in the Ring O’Bells (AKA The Four Ales) before heading back home to await Bman’s arrival.  Then last orders in The Plough.

Christmas morning.  Leisurely buffet breakfast and then when the neicelings arrived at 10am it was present opening time.




He’s Beeeeeeeeen!


Traditional advocaats all round and let the joy of giving commence.  So glad Mum liked her Ruby Shoo boots and my dad liked his League of Gentlemen live ticket (for local people).  Happy childerbeast. Happy family. Happy me.

All good.

Lunchtime mission to the pub for a cheeky pre-dinner gin. 


Gin as big as niece’s head

Met up with extended in-laws. Youngest neiceling fell asleep again so I took her home. Then it was time for dinner.  We sat down at 3pm and didn’t clear the last things away till after 6pm!  Several courses, crackers that played tunes, games inbetween courses and a flaming pud. (no burnt sleevage this year – well done dad).


Time for a lie down after the washing up before further guests arrived at 9pm for a late supper.  Muchas gin ensued and a game of Cards Against Humanity with my new expansion packs and some hand written blank cards.  Not awkward at all with the folks.  Particularly when questioned by my pops as to whether I had written out the card that read, “Riding Tom Hardy Like Seabiscuit“.

#awks (but funny)

Boxing Day was much of the same quality family time, more board games, very competitive bingo and a descent into gambling addiction playing Dad’s ‘Canadian’ game for cold hard cash.

Next day was time to check out and give my mum and dad some peace and their home back.  We headed to Liverpool for a visit to the brother in law and his wife.  Another huge dinner, own body weight in Quality Street and a bit more gin.


Yesterday we had a flying visit from Grandma on her way to Liverpool and today we’ve done fuck all except watch films on TV.  Kung Fu Panda, Dirty Rotten Scoundrels, Up, Room on the Broom and Brave.  My excuse it that it snowed last night so I didn’t want to go outside.

Lazy but loving it.

I may venture out tomorrow but failing that it will be Sunday.  New Year’s Eve – I’m spending it with my sister.  Probably all be asleep by 11pm but that’s okay.

I hope you all had as lovely a Christmas holiday as I did and I hope it doesn’t take too long for you to shift the timber you put on with cheese and crackers and chocolates.

Feliz Navidad and Joyeux Noel Xx

Survived another year (unbelievably)

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Not written in a while.  Basically as I couldn’t be arsed and time has got away from me.

Thought I better crack on a bit before Christmas.  Yesterday was my mothercluckin birthday y’all! 




Bman and I stayed overnight in York at the allegedly haunted Golden Fleece Inn.  I almost went alone because he had a pre-Christmas attack of maudlin arseishness the night before and flounced off into the night.  He came back after an hour and a half after deciding not to chuck himself off the railway bridge (and he couldn’t find anywhere to sit down).

Anyway, off we went.  Had a flirt round York with the hundreds of other Christmas shoppers.  Then checked in to the extremely crooked hotel.  It made our house look expertly built.  It was like staying at one of those crazy houses at the fair.  But, they had a decent gin selection, a busy bar, lots of ghost stories on the wall.  The room was lovely and warm and the breakfast was crackin’.

Had to take this pic of comedy phallic shadow.  You jealous ladies?  Dont’ be.  This is not Bman with his birthday present for me.  It’s the bed post.


There was a resident skeletal barfly in festive garb.  What more could you ask for?



Then it was back to Sadders, collect the kids from their respective pal’s.  Made myself (with a bit of help from Rho) a birthday Yule log (pagan times) and then it was out again into Leeds for tea.

Pieminister. Man I love their pies.  Went for a Christingle this time as a change from my usual Mushroom and Asparagus and went home contentedly full and feeling blessed.

Thank you to everyone for birthday wishes and cards and gifts.  Looking forward to seeing family tomorrow.  Couldn’t see them on Tuesday as planned because me and the childerbeast were too ill with cold.  Boo! Bahh! Crap! So not had cards yet from Fam as we were exchanging them at nieceling’s birthday tea, which I was bummed to have to miss.


Ah well.  Better to keep our lurgies to ourselves I suppose.

May you have a snot-free festive holiday.  Eat, drink. Be merry. Don’t forget the homeless. Be kind and enjoy.

Feliz Navidad.  Joyeux Noel. 

Ciao Tutti! Xx

Prematurely Festive feelings

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Spent three hours yesterday getting to Liverpool by rail to visit the Irish/Scouse Brewer contingent for my nieces 1st birthday party.  Sodding train was running late and rammed to capacity.  The irony of some of the extended Fam getting to Liverpool quicker than we did yet, they live in Ireland was not lost on me.


Was good to see everyone though.

Broke my non cake eating fast while I was there, with a Mr Kipling chocolate slice.


Almost had a diabetic whitey!  It was way too sweet for me.  I didn’t like it.  I’d also broken my chocolate fast on Friday evening with 4 Quality Street and had to have about 3 shits!

Think I may have become intolerant.


Today we felt uncharacteristically festive and decided to put up the tree after we’d watched ‘Santa Claus the Movie’ and ‘Scrooged’ by mistake.

So the house is decorated and I’ve had a mince pie and am currently nursing a cognac (first alcoholic drink since end of September).

It must be Christmas y’all.




Die Hard

Run. (Tweet). Hide (Livestream). Tell (Everyone)

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This weekend I both loved and loathed the Internet and social media in equal measure. 

It started on Friday evening when the Twittersphere exploded with news of some kind of terrorist incident in Oxford Circus in London.

Sky News and BBC got in on the story.  The story was vague.  Something about gunshots and Black Friday shoppers running for cover.

At the root of it the Daily Mail Online tweeted this:

It was very much a case of “Shit, not this again! WTF?” But details were scant.

Then this happened:

Olly Murs y’all!  The hell?

Seemingly Russell Brand was also holed up in the vestibule of a TSB bank live streaming as he hid with other Londoners.

Shit just got weird.

Then. Piers Morgan joined in.

Piers Morgan y’all!  The man who allegedly allowed the hacking of  a dead girl’s mobile phone.


The many comments which followed made for a very entertaining read.  General consensus was for Olly to ignore Piers because he is a bellend.  I’m paraphrasing but you get the idea.

And, of course, the inevitable pisstaking.

So as relieved as I was that this incident turned out to be nothing. It fascinated me that it became anything at all – merely due to social media.
Something minor happens.  People think they heard gunshots.  They ran. They hid. They told. (Just like it says on the government propaganda about what to do in a terror related situation).
‘Celebrities’ were caught up in it.  They tweeted.  I’m sure they weren’t the only ones, but because they aren’t famous, the media and other ‘celebrities’ aren’t slagging them off.  The followers retweeted.  The Daily Mail Online deleted their tweet when it transpired it was
weeks old. 
Throw into the mix some Islamaphobic scaremongering when the co-founder of the EDL chose to tweet (also now deleted) and it all went a bit nuts.  Injured shoppers, traumatised children hiding behind a bin out back of Starbucks and Pret a Manger with their mothers! Just because, two dudes had a bit of a tiff at Oxford Circus tube station or something.


Good job I wasn’t there. I’d have had no clue.  My data is never on.  But, as humans we see a crowd moving in a certain direction and we do tend to follow, sheeplike.

Meanwhile 300 people including children, get blown up and or shot while at prayer in a remote Egyptian province and it barely gets a mention.  Why?  Nobody knows. I bet the people who did it don’t even really know.

We are nothing if not a fascinating, cruel and stupid race. 

Ciao Tutti Xx