When I was savaged by a discarded wig

So I left GhettoShire on Sunday and went to the North Yorks coast with one bestie to finally visit the other bestie (you can have more than one). En-route we swerved to avoid a large creature in he road, possibly deceased. There was an almost simultaneous shout of “CHUPACABRA!” Then a more sensible comment that it had probably been a badger. (It was – we saw it again on the way home).

We swam in the sea in Robin Hood’s Bay in the sea fret (a strange experience). It was most ethereal and we half expected a hoard of zombie pirates to lurch out of the fog with cutlasses to strike us down like something from a James Herbert novel. They didn’t. So that’s good.

I did see the resident ghost/shade at my friend’s house. The guardian of the bathroom landing. So that was also weird. But completely non threatening. No need for an exorcism.

😀

Spent a lovely evening just chatting shit & catching up and headed into Whitby the following day. Was very busy as it was Regatta Weekend. Great to see so many people out and about after the last 2 years of shite, but also a bit annoying TBH. Too peopley by far. Hopefully Shambala next week won’t irritate me as much because those people will be a lot more on my wavelength than the “Dole Pole” posse in Wolf fleeces that seemed to be very much in evidence on Whitby foreshore.
We had a decent swim where we encountered not, in fact, a discarded Ronald McDonald wig, but a lion’s mane jellyfish. We thought we’d avoided it but I think a stray tentacle got me, as when I got out, I had a definite sting on my ankle. Irritating but not debilitating, so must have just been a small loose one.

Oh Ronald NO!

We had very nice fish & chips (it’s the law when at the seaside). My friend left her phone in the loos but realised before we’d gone too far so got it back no problem. I swerved on the fairground rides that she tried to persuade me to go on. Not for a fiver a head and the fact that they had only been erected that morning. No way! I did spaff nine English pounds on 2 bags of fudge for the Childerbeast – not as much choice of flavours in the pre-bagged stuff but I didn’t want fly-blown, pikey poked fudge that had been on display all day in the hot sun. A sweaty fudge cube is a friend to nobody!

Beach again tomorrow but this time putting the horn into Hornsea again!

Sweet Xx

Business ideas to top the coffers for Winter

It’s been a while since I transcribed any of mine and Bman’s stupid conversations but here goes, before I forget (because that shit is happening more than I’d like to admit these days).

On regaling Bman with a tale told to me about my friend volunteering to be ‘burnt at the stake’ at York Dungeon one time in front of her 8 year old child (as you do). We were saying how we hadn’t ever been to York Dungeon (but now kind of wanted to go and also volunteer to be burnt at the stake). This then led onto talking about whether or not he had been to the Jorvik Centre. He had as it turns out, when it first opened in the 1980’s. I told him that he should go again as it had changed a lot after it flooded and then they discovered how historically inaccurate it all was. They had to redo it so it would be a different experience now.
Almost simultaneously we came up with the concept of being mis-sold your Jorvik Experience. Why were we not being bombarded with phonecalls and TV ads. Like for PPI or the new one about diesel vehicles. There was loose talk of registering the domain name MyVikingExperience.com which we could then sell on at great profit to a claims company once the world caught on to this gaping hole in the claims system.

“Did you visit the York Jorvik Experience prior to 2001? You may be entitled to compensation” etc…

Watch this space!

See also Bman’s Dragon’s Den idea of opening a company for Corporate Team Building Events where office workers can bond by donning balaclavas and riding quad bikes round the suburban streets of Bradford, pretending to be whoever the people who already do that think they are. FFS!
A balaclava, my friend, will not protect your melon when you smash into someone’s garden wall in the wee small hours of the morning. And more to the point, quad bikes are for farmers, not razzing down to the shop for a pack of Amber Leaf and a Monster with your toddler on the front in nothing but a babygro.

Still here – just keep breathing

What’s occurring people? Everyone still currently able to pay their energy bills? Buy food? Pay for petrol? Exist even? While our would be potential leaders talk about funnelling funding into areas that truly deserve it – like Royal Tonbridge Wells for example, as opposed to maybe, any small town north of Stevenage.

I have been distracting myself from the stark reality of life in the UK with things like watching the last ever episode of Neighbours where I cried, nay, hysterically flapped my hands like a crazy lady in an American Rom-Com. This breakdown in decorum brought about because Kylie Minogue made a cameo back in it. She said 3 words tops. But the part that made me lose it was the nod to her first ever appearance when she attempted to break in to her old house through the window. The childerbeast looked completely befuddled as their mother broke down on the sofa and started trying to explain the plot through increasingly high pitched hysterical weeping.

FFS!

Over emosh lately seems to have been the in thing. I had a day out the other week with my bestie but ended up almost ruining a most tranquil walk to a waterfall and a dip by being all maudlin. Dunno what was up with me. Came around once I’d been encouraged to get under the waterfall.

On Saturday we had a long time planned visit overnight camping at my parents’ gaff – the last visit for us before they move house so it was going to be emotional. Then my sister’s posse had to cancel thanks to bloody covid so we abandoned the overnight camp plan and just went for the day. Plus side of that disappointment was that I got to spend some time with my nephew and attempt a bit of bonding.

Going to enjoy the warm weather while I can and try to charge myself up for the winter for when we can’t afford the heating on. Off to Rounday Park tomorrow with my pal for a day chilling and people watching.
Bring it on!

Enoyed it as much as I could today by sitting in a big bucket of water in the garden… as you do.

Stay safe people and have fun while you can Xx

Marked safe from the mini heatwave of 2022

Been a bit warm eh? Last night was the first night I’ve slept upstairs for 3 days. Treat myself to a new bottom sheet while Bman is away on a course. In my eagerness to make use of it and actually be in my own bed, with it to myself, I put it straight on the bed. It is now on the line after being washed in 7000L of fabric softener. Abrasive is probably the best way of describing my night’s sleep back in my own bed. On the bright side, my entire body has been beautifully exfoliated every time I switched position in the night.

So what else has been occurring? Seaside trip on Sunday with most the fam (but not the youngest who refused to participate in our sandy day trip). So good to be back in the sea. I love it! Fish & Chip supper and an ice cream before heading home. Sweet!

🙂

In current affairs I see that Doris hasn’t actually really resigned then? He is in that demob happy phase of having handed in his notice and just tossing it off for the remaining few weeks. Parties at Chequers, buggering about in RAF Typhoons, pretending he’s in Top Gun. Or apparently The Terminator if his last speech was anything to go by – the total twat! While London genuinely burns around him.

/https://www.msn.com/en-gb/news/newslondon/london-fires-scores-of-homes-destroyed-by-devastating-blazes-as-firefighter-tells-of-e2-80-98absolute-hell-e2-80-99/ar-AAZM09A

Thank goodness there are alternative things to watch out there than the pitiful ‘battle’ for the Tory Leadership. Cringeworthy Alan B’Stard style videos being circulated. Truss getting lost in a room with one door. Dishy Rishi showing his true self in a video where is scoffs at “working class people” and TBH I can’t even remember who the others even are. We can’t even watch their debates even if we wanted to now as they’re too dull for TV by all accounts. Who knew?
They’ve missed a trick in my opinion. Should have had Bear Grylls dump them all on an island and see who is still alive after a month. Or switch that format up a little. Abandon them in a staunch labour northern town on Universal Credit and see who is still alive after a month. Sort the wheat from the chaff as it were.

May the odds be ever stacked against them!

Meanwhile, to distract us all from the story about an extinction level asteroid hurtling towards Earth in October this year, which never gets mentioned on the news, (google it) immerse yourselves in the viral sensation that is… Emmanuel Todd Lopez – the scene stealing Emu from Knuckle Bump Farm,, Florida. (Trust me, none of those words I just wrote are made up).

https://www.news18.com/news/buzz/emmanuel-dont-do-it-adorable-emu-becomes-overnight-tiktok-star-for-being-too-nosy-5577865.html

Perhaps we could get Emmanuel in on the act with the Tory Leadership Election. Whoever he pecks first is out – or in – whichever rules you want to play. Or on second thoughts. Emmanuel for PM. Let’s make that a thing, because lord knows the bird has more charisma, and will probably do a better job.

You got my vote Emmanuel

It’s all going on today….

Currently (it’s 12:07pm) awaiting the wheeling out of the Downing Street lectern for El Bozo to shuffle out and do his best waffle to the nation. I need a shit and have to set off to work in an hour and a half at the most so he better get a wriggle on. He is probably crying in his bedroom under the duvet and refusing to come out. Or helping Carrie steam the fucking wallpaper off so they can take it with.
Since 8am when I woke up I have been glued to the news and scrolling Twitter with a growing feeling of shadenfreude and by the time I actually post this entry, I am sure things will have changed.
It could go all Libyan Embassy Siege before the day is out the way it’s going. The SAS may have to go in. I’m sure Her Maj has her finger on the button to speed dial those fuckers should the time come.

My worry, amidst the amusement of this entire sorry scenario is that Raab may end up in charge, albeit temporarily. The ministerial equivalent of that HLTA or regular Supply Teacher that nobody wants to cover their class, even though they are allegedly qualified. Y’all know the one. There’s always one. He will have the cabinet colouring in pictures a Knight or designing their own imaginary monster. (Lest we ever forget the invention of The “Rug Muncher” in Year 6 or “Rasta Man”) FFS!

I’ll post this now as I don’t want it dated before I’ve even pressed Enter!

Stay tuned MoFos. There is still time for people dressed in furs and horned helmets to storm No10 and shit in the drawers.

Ciao Ciao Xx

The fall of the house of Johnson

Just me, trying to catch up on current affairs

So, the Conservative party carnage continues. Am getting vibration white finger trying to scroll enough to keep up with the almost hourly changing news of scandals and resignations. You couldn’t make some of this shit up.

The internet provides of course and here are my 3 favourite (so far) memes on the subject.

I urge you to find this one and watch and listen 😀

As you would expect, the more useless and odious are still clinging on to their roles and pledging unwavering allegiance to the spaffer. The man who forgot there were parties in his house all the way through lockdown and also forgot that he employed a sex pest.
What an absolute shower! Simpering Dorries, Lemon- lipped horror Patil, Haunted coat-stand Rees-Mogg etc – Gove no doubt getting pepped up on powders as we speak, limbering up to throw is rave beanie into the ring as a potential replacement (please kill me!). What an utter embarrassment. Am considering forming my own alternative party consisting of strong Northern women. Who’s in?

By the time I post this no doubt someone else will have resigned. So glad our new chancellor is the same dude who claimed for the electricity to heat his stables. A man there with his finger on the pulse of the income and purse strings of the common man. FFS!

I honestly despair.

And I’m not sleeping well, to the point of considering a GP appointment about it. The menopause is a trial for sure. Hot/Cold/Happy/Sad/Tired/Wide-Awake/Horny/Don’t fucking touch me.
Left my keys in the door of the pool yesterday and didn’t realise til I got home. Rescued by a swim parent whose child went to the gymnastics class upstairs after swimming and spotted them swinging in the keyhole. Am beginning to think I should no longer be allowed out unsupervised. Was awake at 4am this morning sat on back doorstep wondering how long it will be before I end committing myself voluntarily to to the nuthouse. Googling how to help with these issues. Web MD helpfully suggested cutting out anything that brings me the slightest bit of joy (coffee, sugary foods, TV etc) so that won’t be happening.

Right I’m off to watch PMQs before I go to work. I may need a bucket of popcorn. May also research to see if I have any Scottish heritage and move north of the border.

What’s occurring – it’s July!

Forget half-way through June, it’s now July! My life is skidding toward inevitable decrepitude and death at a rate of knots at the moment! As is the swift decline in the morals of society and hundreds of women and girls losing control over their own bodies thanks to a handful of Christian fanatics in the USA. Gilead times people. Get those white hoods and red cloaks out and get ready to be under his eye and blessed be the fruit and all that. Unless the fruit is disabled or gay in which case the fruit will get no love whatsoever. And should the fruit have to be taught to hide beneath tables as part of an active shooter drill in school then so bet it…apparently. Yes, we live in a western society now where a gun has more rights than a woman.

Women should be rising up and kicking off. Not here though obviously as noisy protest is now an arrestable offence. As well as, seemingly, silent protest about the right of women to be able to walk the streets of their town unmolested – we haven’t forgotten that I hope! Men making decisions over women yet again.

😦

Meanwhile in the UK the hashtag #blojo is trending and I urge you to leave it be. Step away from Twitter! My eyes needed to be rinsed out with Listerine after seeing Dominic Raab winking at Angela Rayner in parliament the other day mid speech. I do not need the mental image of Doris getting a bit of stress relief from his bird while Grant Williamson walks in on them, Why has this foul man not yet resigned when many of his cabinet resigned for far less a misdemeanour?

In news closer to home, the child is home from Uni (currently living it up at her pal’s place in Jersey). And Bman eventually gets to start his new job on Monday after a month off with the broken elbow. He has just had his drivers licence renewed and there’s an uncanny resemblance to Sid Haig in House of 1000 Corpses….so that’s lovely.

I’ve treated myself to a pink dryrobe (by Annox not Dryrobe). Should have been £160 but got it for £106. It’s my new favourite item and I will be taking it to Shambala festival next month. Also spotted these drinks in big th’Asda so tried them out. Based solely on the fact that they are elderfower and mint flavour of course. Most refreshing and strangely relaxing,

🙂

The MiL sent us some money to go out for a meal for our 20th wedding anniversary which was on Wednesday last week, 20 years! FFS! How have we not strangled one another yet? Anyway we went back to basics and had a lunch at Morrisons cafe yesterday. Because that’s as romantic and thrilling as it gets with us. It was like the Island of Dr Moreau in there. Geezer from The Hills Have Eyes on the cig counter as I cashed in the coins I have been collecting from my tuck shop at work.. Rip-off as I was stiffed a £13 processing fee! People shuffling round the aisles in a daze, looking like they were auditioning for Shaun of the Dead 2. FFS! I won’t be doing that again in a hurry.

May your July be joyful anyway. Am saying it now as by the time I wrote again, it could well be August the way I am going.

Be safe. Up the workers!

Ciao tutti Xx

How are we halfway through June already??

Well well well. What a couple of weeks! A day out in half term to meet up with family, with a short but sweet, rainy dip thrown in.

A jolly good old British celebration to mark the Queen’s platinum jubilee ( say Platty Joobs and I WILL hurt you!) Which seems to have divided opinion on Twitter as to whether it was a spiffing good show and wasn’t that Paddington skit marvellous of her Maj, to, what a waste of tax payers money and isn’t it disgusting in these times when people can’t afford to live. I think it was great personally, and worth the expense if only for Doris to get burned by Lee Mack and Stephen Fry and to have even the Palace troll him with the reading he had from the bible.

Bman is still unable to work which means he is lurking about shuffling around in his slippers, muttering. Bless him. He doesn’t do well with nothing to do. Unlike me. I can happily stare off into space in silence for hours despite having plenty of things I could be doing. He’s a bit of a curtain twitcher and likes to nosy out into the street to see what’s what. He got out of bed the other morning to watch the binnies empty the green bin. Then he got back into bed…

After a week off for half term I had to stay closed last Tuesday aswell, thanks to an electrical fail at the pool. Nearly £500 lighter now after having to get the electrics rewired. This fella seemed to be the culprit. The wire he chewed that tripped all the lights out was clearly his last meal!
Retrieved him from the crawl space in the ceiling in a John McClane move after the electrician told me he was up there. Don’t think he expected me to go up myself and investigate. He is now in a skip in the car park behind the pool. (The rat not the electrician!)

Spent the weekend visiting mum and dad and some old pals in Chester, which was much needed and most enjoyable. Mixed emotions about my folks’ selling their house. It could be one of the last if not the last time I might get to spend the night there. I got married there and I have lots of happy family memories from it and the garden. It will be strange to not go there anymore. ( I mean I got married there 20 years ago…not at the weekend – I’m not a bigamist!)

Legends

Gorgeous secret tea garden at Susie K on the rows on Bridge Street

Going ghosthunting on Saturday in Ripon at the old workhouse museum again. Couple of Chester pals are going so that will be fun.

Stay safe and Ciao Ciao Xx

Jackass times

So guess what else happened on May 25th but after I had written my last post?

Bman rang me on my way to work to tell me that he’d had an accident at work. Luckily not a road traffic accident but nonetheless he is now sporting a fractured elbow and a beaut of a scabby knee. He was loading his van and stumbled over a low bollard he didn’t see, and went for a sixer on the floor. I’ve seen the CCTV footage and he goes down like a sack of spuds.

Duckieboos

So now he is off work and shuffling round the house in his shuffly old man slippers, not picking his feet up, as he lumbers across the laminate flooring.

O M G

He can still drive, as he can use his arm to do the gears etc but he is trying not to. Hopefully he can still start the new job he has, as they’ve said that the first couple of weeks are a lot of classroom based training. Otherwise he is going to drive himself insane with boredom or I’m going to go insane (more so than normal) and end up burying him in the yard with his potatoes.

May your half term, if you’re lucky to be having one, be a relaxing one. Stay safe. Try not to fall over Xx

May 25th and that

What has been happening in the world since my last post?

Apparently monkeypox is the latest scaremongering tactic and the term “Isolate” is back in the game after a few months off. Well you can stick your monkeypox up your arse quite frankly because I’m not going down that sorry road again! For any contagious illness ever (measles, chickenpox etc) you have to isolate so let’s not make a massive crikey over it again please.

The mysterious Sue Grey has delivered her report to Downing Street today. The one we have waited months for and that Doris tried to get her to drop because nobody is bothered anymore. They are bothered though Doris, you lumpy-arsed shredded wheat-haired useless sack of lying monkeypox! The public IS bothered. Bet you still don’t resign though because there isn’t an ounce of integrity in your body. Bet the Tories still get in next time too because TBH the alternative parties are not exactly setting their stall out either. Come on people. Sort it out because I am ‘this’ close to upping sticks and setting up camp in a pop up tent and a camping chair outside Downing Street with a stash of eggs to throw and a massive CUNT sign. Bet I’d get more than £50 fine for that though. Probably be carted off unceremoniously liked that redhead at the silent protest about the Sarah Everard murder.

Meanwhile the supposedly “unimaginable” has happened AGAIN in the USA. Not that unimaginable really though is it? Not with it happening all the ruddy time. The 18 year old perpetrator was supposedly bullied at school. Not by those children though was he? WTAF? How has an 18 year old got access to such an arsenal? Because he lives in the land of the fucking free that’s why. Sort yourselves out America. (So says the woman living in a country run by a scarecrow with a carefully crafted image of being a bit nice but dim, but is actually a snide, conspiring, no fucks given, manipulator).

In more light hearted news that shouldn’t be amusing but is a little bit – Ainsley Harriot and other people having to fish his sister out of a water feature at the Chelsea Flower Show. Drowning in very shallow body of water is still a very real possibility if you fall in face first. Watch your step! Am hoping there is some kind of barrier around that particular feature now. FFS!

And in a new personal low/high (dependent on your perspective) I was enjoying a little private time with myself the other day (Sorry mum, please stop reading immediately!) and a rattling ladder disturbed me at the bedroom window & I realised the tile man had come back to fix the bits he missed the other week. I dived into the corner behind the curtain, rampant rabbit in hand, muttering “Shit” and “OMG” to myself. I managed to escape downstairs unseen and hid in the lounge where I knew the blinds were still down. A few minutes later there was a knock at the door. I dithered about answering but then decided to brazen it out. Smoothed my hair and went to unlock it only to find the child on the doorstep home from college and the tile man on the kerb packing his ladders back onto the roof-rack. He did not make eye contact with me. Either way, my Me Time would have been interrupted by the look of it anyway.

How’s everyone else life going?

😀

Be safe out there people. Be alert!

BTW isn’t it raining a lot for May? What’s that all about? At least we get to use the phrase “at least the plants will get watered” about 18 times a week though.

Also, where do the slugs live when it isn’t raining? Do they live underground? Why am I 50 years old but don’t know the answer to that question?

At least I didn’t fall in the Mersey…

So apparently perimenopausal psychosis is a thing. Awesome! Pretty sure I’ve got that. Been googling reasons why I might be so bloody dopey lately. My brain fog is getting worse. In the space of a fortnight I have had to have my mobile phone replaced twice! The first time because the cheapo charger cable overheated and welded the charging pin into the phone. I had had a new handset for 2 days before I lost it in Liverpool whilst visiting R at Uni last Monday. What a tool!
Honest to god. I left it on a bench outside my hotel and by the time I realised, obviously it was long gone. Probably sold for £20 for smack! FFS! Beginning to think i should no longer be allowed out unsupervised.

I had spent Saturday night looking after my nieces while my sis was out at a gig. Then I bummed a lift to Manchester with them on Sunday and got a train to Liverpool. It was a gorgeous day, so once R had met me from Lime Street and I’d checked into my hotel (no way was I bunking up with her at her Uni flat), we went down to the docks to enjoy the sunshine. Was pretty busy actually and we spent a most pleasant afternoon wandering, eating burritos and spending a bit of money. Bought the child some new undies as she hasn’t done a wash for weeks because her lift is broken and she CBA to walk down 6 flights of stairs with her washing. #studentlife

I was in my hotel bed for 9pm after the child had submitted to humouring her S’mother with a game of Bananagrams on the floor of the hotel. Our plan for the following day was to have a lazy lie-in, then meet up in the early afternoon for more retail therapy then go to my bro-in-law’s for tea. There was even loose rumour of going to out to a club on Monday night. However, my old lady brain had other plans for the way the day panned out. I shall hold up my hands and confess that I was outside at about 1030am enjoying a very cheeky recreational cigarette. (I know I know, it’s a slippery slope – but in my mind, I was ‘on holiday’). Anyway, I then wander back to my room with my bottle of Dr Pepper and eating Mentos and did not even cotton on that I didn’t have my enormous phone with me until I’d had a poo and a disco snooze. By which time of course it would have been long gone after I tore the room to bits looking for the fucker. Panic then ensued as I had no way of getting in touch with R at her flat and I couldn’t remember any phone numbers other than my own, or my mum & dad’s, and there was no way I was calling them to admit my stupidity. Asked at Reception and the little shop round the corner if it had been handed in but of course it hadn’t. Fortunately I remembered the way to R‘s digs which weren’t very far away and that there was side door to get in, so I headed round there in a bit of a daze. She had said that the lift was broken so I knew I’d have to take the stairs. Could I for the life of me remember what floor or flat number she was in, but I remember she was on a high floor so I slogged up 10 flights of stairs to start at the top and I just started knocking on doors and shouting her name like a crazy person. One unfortunate soul lurched from his pit to assist me and told me there was nobody of R‘s name on that floor. So I headed down a floor and tried again without success. And again the floor below. At this stage I knew I couldn’t find her that way. So changed tack and went all the way down the stairs again and out of the building to the Reception office (perhaps where I should have started!) Could I get into the Reception? No of course not. The “Press here to open” button wasn’t working. A couple of passing students advised that they thought it was closed for the afternoon at which point I panicked anew and started banging on the window as I was sure I could see a lady lurking in a back office. Despite my no doubt insane appearance at this stage, the lady did see me and was insane enough herself to let me in. I hurriedly explained that I was R‘s mum and she instantly went into defensive mode and said in a strong Scouse accent “If it’s about the hot water, we know about it and it’s getting sorted”. I was like “No no It’s not that, although we will revisit the lack of hot water sitch later”. I think she thought R had sent her Beverly Goldberg of s’mother in to sort out the cold water issue. 😀
She was a very kind and patient lady who sat me down, made me a brew and set to looking for R‘s number on the system and sent her a text and an email in a Burbs style – (“Walter, I have your dog”) but it was “R I have your mum in Reception please come get her she has no phone”. Before too long R wandered in looking like she had just woken up which I believe she just had and looking at me with the kind of love and pity reserved for the type of elderly relative one has to retrieve from the street as they wander free in their pyjamas at 3am because they have forgotten what year it is and are asking if there is still a war on. FFS!

We then headed to her flat which was actually in the next doorway along from the one I went into. No wonder I couldn’t find her! I was annoyed at myself even more but also glad that my precious first born did not live in the apartment block that any old loon could just wander into off the street. WTF?

One laborious and stressful phonecall later to my mobile provider, my lost phone was blocked and locked and I was put through to the claims dept sort a replacement. Couldn’t proceed with a claim from her flat though as all the details I needed to send were back home in Sadford. So we decided that the best course of action was for me to go home a day early. Having to buy a new train ticket (original one was an e-ticket on the phone I no longer had!) I wasn’t going to be able to settle until I’d sorted it so I cut my visit short and offered R the use of my hotel room for the night even if just to have a hot shower.
What a calamity. What a doylem I am.

I was back home by about 8:30pm with Bman and A laughing at my doziness.

Is this the future? Forgetting shit and doing dumb stuff and my children having to bail me out. Jeez! Just shoot me now.

Take care of yourselves MoFos and don’t be a dumb-arse and forget your giant phone because your head is like a candyfloss!

Blessed be the fucking fruit loops

We are not living in Gilead yet, but it’s getting there… Even these slackers got it back in 1999 (Dogma – great movie btw!)
Perhaps if the men making these rulings had to actually give birth to a human being that may not even be a viable life, or was the result of a sexual assault, or an accidental pregnancy to a woman unable or unfit to cope for whatever reason, then they would think twice and about spouting pro life rhetoric. Some US States even blathered on about doctors having to re-implant an ectopic pregnancy into the womb otherwise they could be prosecuted – a procedure that, as far as I am aware, even with my minimal medical knowledge, isn’t even possible! The lunatics literally are taking over the asylum the world over and it makes me hang my head in my hands and cry for the sake of my own girls.

I despair at the moment, I truly do.

Not only is our own PM so out of touch with his country that he doesn’t know who Lorraine Kelly is, he thinks it’s acceptable for a 77 year old woman to feel obliged to ride the bus all day to keep warm & save on her own heating at home where she has cut down to one meal a day (#elsie). The Tories have ruined our country as far as I am concerned and TBH I’m not sure at this stage that Labour could have done any better. Everything is bollocks. It’s all who knows who and who can benefit financially as long as it’s not actually The People.

Meanwhile Putin continues to go mad with power – a situation seemingly predicted by non other than Lizard theorist David Icke back in 2014.

Fuck me!

I really do despair.

A I is out to get me lately

Managed to have a Saturday night away with Bman last weekend. I had booked our accommodation based solely on proximity to home and the fact that they had a big jacuzzi bath with a built in TV and some serious mood lighting throughout the room.

Sexy times.

You know what isn’t sexy though? Arriving at what was essentially a concrete block of flats to be let in (eventually) by a cleaner, who told us nobody was there. She did call someone and a flustered looking man appeared and took us to an office that looked like it was being used a storage room. He processed our booking and took us to a room down a very hospital-like corridor that stunk of disinfectant. Our room was darker than expected and had the worst bed covers I’ve ever seen on the small double bed. In my distaste I forgot to take a photo but it what universe are dog shit brown fake Versace well worn & bobbly bed covers with fag burns, an acceptable choice? Bman could sense my disappointment and suggested we just bail and go home but I insisted we stay. There was no tea, coffee or milk in the kitchenette despite my asking if there would be and having been told YES. So off Bman trotted to the local Premier shop for overpriced supplies. Meanwhile I got a text from the manager asking what time we were arriving so he could meet us. FFS! I replied that we were already in the room and that I was not happy.

Within 5 minutes another man arrived and agreed to change the bed linen after I told him there was no way I was sleeping on those covers! He advised that the major light feature – an LED rain effect ‘wall’ next to the bed did not actually work and they didn’t know how to fix it. I suggested that they perhaps not ought to focus too much on that as selling point on Booking.com then as it was false advertising. He then asked if the first man had shown us “the knack to working the TV in the jacuzzi”. This did not sound promising either. Anything electrical next to a body of water should not have a “knack” in my opinion. Particularly not one that may involver having to get out of the jacuzzi to go in another room and turn a mains switch off and on again.

FML!

I was not destined to have lovely things and be a Princess that’s for sure.

Ah well. It could be worse.

It almost got worse when let’s just call it, “a personal massaging device” which runs on mains power, quite literally blew up whilst plugged in. Fortunately not being used at the time. It just suddenly burst into life, there was a small pop and a distinct smell of electrical burning.

Just shoot me!

So that was they end of that particular appliance much to mine and Bman’s irritation. Bman seemed even more annoyed than me tbh. Fortunately since then, the original retailed has refunded me and has promised a £50 gift card as compensation for the fault. Although I suspect the fault lay with the dubious electrical wiring at the accommodation.

Minor calamities aside, the night was fun and very relaxing. What could be more romantic that sitting in a too hot bubble bath with very noisy bubble jets while you watch a slightly blurred Netflix showing of the story of John Wayne Gacy?

Since then we have had Internet issues at home when the internet decided to give up and go on strike. Cue a telephone battle with TalkTalk which took far too long to get sorted. This included them trying to stiff me £65 for a call out charge because apparently I wasn’t home when the invisible, did not exist, repair man came to call. The problem was sorted in the end, 5 days later, by a repair man who had no business looking so cute at 8am in the morning when I shambled to open the door in my fluffy dressing gown and bed hair all over the place and pillow case creases on my face. The issues it would seem, as a result of when Talk Talk sent out an engineer last month to upgrade our connection to get faster fibre. Well that worked then! FFS!

Today I have had to call my mobile provider to claim for a new handset (AGAIN) as the charger cable overheated last night and welded itself into the charger port.

Surely that must be it now? Or should I wait for the toaster to attack me as it becomes sentient whilst toasting my crumpets?

If you don’t hear from me I have probably been eaten by the vacuum cleaner or sucked into the mechanism of n escalator somewhere.

Stay safe MoFos Xx

BH Weekend bits

I went on a ghost investigation on Saturday night but I’ll tell all about that another time. I need to do the official write up for it first for the Team. Suffice to say, it was at Ripon Workhouse Museum and was a most interesting night and I came home with 2 Easter eggs, one of which I ate at 3:30am with a cup of tea when I got home.

Actually managed to spend some time with Bman this weekend as he was off too. He did a shed rave on Friday then lazed about on Saturday.

We have pottered in the garden, made an abortive trip to B&Q yesterday for strawberry runners but hadn’t realised (along with several other people) that the stores were closed on Easter Sunday.
I was thoroughly exhausted after my Scooby Doo exploits on Saturday night & to be honest, was only awake at all as we were meant to go into the pool to help do some maintenance. This didn’t happen though as Richard couldn’t make it in the end. So yesterday I spent a lot of the day in bed dozing off my paranormal hangover drifting in & out of a day-long showing of Carry On films. In these woke, cancel culture times, I’m not entirely sure how they are even allowed on the telly anymore, but I am glad they are.

We went to B&Q and the pool today instead. Pools needed draining and are currently refilling with my my local friend on security detail to ensure there is no overspill.

B&Q was rather busy, presumably with all the people who went yesterday like we did & had been left sadly lacking in the plants & home renovation departments. There were signs all over the carpark, ‘20% off garden plants’ etc – all ripped off their posts & strewn about the ground. In my head some mild-mannered housewife just snapped yesterday when she found the shutters down & realised she would have to wait another day for her 20% off hydgrangeas & clematis plants then went postal on her put-upon husband in the carpark. I wish I’d seen it to be honest.

😀

Hope your Easter was decent & that you celebrated the resurrection of our lord sexy Jesus with the requisite amount of chocolate eggs, hot cross buns & whatnot.

Ciao Ciao Xx

Easter break activities Pt1

My old school pal ventured north this week to visit for a couple of days. I’m always very excited when people make the effort to come to me rather than the other way around, so I was determined to make the most of it. I booked us various entertainments to keep us out of mischief although that didn’t stop us accidentally heading to a casino instead of John Lewis – as you do. And you know the true extent of the friendship when your pal brings you the gift of a log that may possibly, we’ll never really know for sure, have been chopped down by David Koresh before he went full sociopath & set up camp at Waco & got into a siege lasting 51 days.
True story.

Not a log in the sense that you think I meant…..

Monday night we attended a Uranus Gong Bath meditation session in Cha[el Allerton. Where essentially, we lay on mats and cushions by candlelight, while a lady bonged a gong near our heads, spraying us with paulo santo, clary sage & patchouli oils. Then lulled us all into a hyped up yet also most tranquil, state of mindfulness with a giant rainmaker & some singing bowls & more aura spray. Could only have been more relaxing if the man laid behind me hadn’t fallen asleep and begun snoring 5 minutes into the session.

Tuesday we had a fun time in Harvey Nicks, sniffing gorgeous aftershaves & some not so gorgeous ones. We fondled expensive clothing – some of it nicer than others. Some of it my pal described as Jimmy Savile Couture. |£950 for a shiny red tracky top – erm I don’t think so! £750 for furry flip-flop slippers just because they were Gucci – nope! Gorgeous furry hooded Canada Goose coat – now you’re talking! Didn’t make purchase but if I had the money I would have done. We had mocktails & bar snacks at the 4th floor restaurant and pretended like we ate there all the time. So civilised.

Later we ate at a vegan place where we saw Paul Calf on his laptop next to us, wearing press-stud side popper orange Kappa trackies like something from the early 80s. Spent far too long reading the very woke graffiti on the toilet doors in the ladies then headed to the theatre. We saw ‘The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night Time’. Beautifully done & well worth a look, even if you haven’t read the book, particularly if you know anyone with or have worked with any children on the autistic spectrum.

Wednesday morning I took my friend to Armley Mill for a bit of a lesson on the industrial history of Leeds & of course, to get our witchy spook on. I hadn’t told her anything about it or what activity I had witnessed there in the past, to see if she picked up on the same things. She did. I knew she would!

🙂

So lovely to see her and get to go out and relax a bit. Now I just need to find somewhere to put my cult Branch Davidian log & ensure that Bman doesn’t accidentally burn it on the chiminea.

Out tonight in Ripon on a paranormal investigation. So that should be interesting, albeit tiring. Hopefully I will stay awake.

Ciao Tuttis Xx

NDE

Bman was away to his mam’s at the weekend so I was very decadent and changed the bed sheets so I could be first under the fresh duvet and starfish out for two nights. I didn’t even wear earplugs one of the nights. Rock n Roll!

A and I opted to fly in the face of family convention on Saturday and NOT do Burger Saturday as has become tradition. Instead I ordered a Chinese. My mushroom chow mein was sadly lacking in ‘mein’ as there were no noodles in evidence whatsoever but it was still very tasty. Right up until the part when a slippery slice of carrot slid down my throat in a lateral fashion and proceeded to block my airway! It just felt uncomfortable at first like when a dorito shard goes down the wrong way. But as I tried in vain to swallow to clear it and wash it down with my glass of Lidl’s own Lilt, I could feel myself gipping and gagging & not feeling right at all!

Actually it wasn’t – I’ve done some funny shit in my time

A noticed so asked if I was ok. I managed to gasp “hit me” as I turned my back to her. Then with an unflustered & no holds barred alacrity that both surprised & impressed me, she steamed in with 2 aggressively sharp back slaps between the shoulder blades, whilst saying “sorry mum” & the offending vegetable flew from my throat into my hand. I had a lovely red hand print on my back but I was alive!

death by carrot – not today. Not today!

I have not lived this long & done the dumb ass things I have before to be finished off by a sodding carrot!

So big thanks to the offspring for saving my life. Well done bab! ‘Smother will be eternally grateful to you for saving her from a most undignified yet amusing demise.

This morning the long-time wobbly loo seat finally decided to break free from its tenuous moorings while I was having a shit so it seems that the fates seem determined to end my life in some comedic fashion. Well, I’m still here, writing this crap so you haven’t got me yet Death.

Obviously if I meet my maker in some Darwin Award style ending on the way to or from work today then this will be a most ironic last post.

Just in case – I suggest living your best life as best you can and making some amazing memories while you can.

Be safe out there people. The veg and the bathroom fittings are out to get you!

Ciao Tutti Xx

It’s almost April!

Spent a most lovely Mothering Sunday surrounded by the Fam.
Persuaded them all to venture from the dark side of the Pennines over into God’s own county of Yorkshire to my house for a change. Obviously, when panic buying quiche and cheese and hammering at the door of the baker’s counter in Asda on Saturday morning before work for 86 French Sticks on Saturday, I almost regretted extending the invitation.
Forgot to reset my alarm for my promised early rise to clean the house. Luckily the Bman was up and at ’em as he usually is on a Sunday before me anyway. I awoke to the dulcet sound of the vacuum cleaner on turbo downstairs as he tried, valiantly, to hoover the shit living room rug. It’s paper thin and crumbles in the face of even the hard floor setting and just allows itself to be sucked into the mechanism like a defeatist. Usually I tend to just hang it on the line and beat the hell out of it with a broom in lieu of vacuuming it. So we decided to put it out of its misery and just dumped it in the black bin instead. We’ll go without for the summer and, if we’re all still alive and solvent, we’ll get a better one for the winter.

A most joyous afternoon well spent in good company and I am very grateful for everyone for making the journey over. If only because it meant I didn’t have to spend over an hour in the paedo van of eternal stinking petrol fumes going over The Tops.

🙂

Meanwhile, our gloriously competent and not corrupt at all, government have decreed that schools should now step in if a child seems to be falling behind in maths and English and provide some kind of intervention. And around the UK, hundreds of teachers and support staff smack their heads on a desk somewhere amidst piles of marking and intervention paperwork and say……

Oh yeah, I hadn’t thought of that!

Stick to throwing parties so good you forget they happened Bozza, you massive unkempt scruffy entitled clueless knobshandy. You just carry on playing soggy biscuit or whatever with Reece-Mogg and Sunak while Priti watches and Truss dresses up as something else this week and poses for Insta.

Fuck off!

🙂

Right, I’m off to work because if I don’t, we’ll be sat at home in the dark telling ghost stories by candle light for entertainment while eating stale bread. But you know, build back better and all that.

Be safe out there people Xx

This one time…

This time two years ago was when it all went a bit like a Global episode of Taskmaster. Confined to our homes with our families for company and Netflix already exhausted, people took to the internet to put out their garbage in full ballgown attire. Including me. People took to jogging their local streets in fancy dress. Rainbow pics in windows, pointlessly clapping for the NHS when what they actually wanted was in-date PPE and a fucking payrise! Covid snakes of painted pebbles appeared around the neighbourhood. Weekly family zoom quizzes that got more and more competitive each week. When I was compared to a friend of a friend’s scarecrow, I dressed as said scarecrow and text my friend that she should walk past my house. I stood in the front yard like Worzel Gummidge’s fat uncle. My joggers stuffed with cushions and my hair in an unruly mess (standard tbf) and we laughed like drains.
One day I went for a walk to the post office, feeling like that dude from ‘The Road’ but without the shopping trolley. Leeds/Bradford Road was eerily empty. I felt like Cillian Murphy in 28 Days Later. I took my ghost-hunting walkie talkies with me so I could test the range. My pal had hers on from the next street while Bman had the other one of mine in our house. Comical scenes ensued as local dogwalkers on their daily health walk strolled past me down the jib as I pretended to ignore the chatter coming from the walkie in my hand as my pal played a siren and shouted “Citizens! Return to your Homes immediately” and Bman put on a falsetto voice and announced that there was loo roll and pasta available at the local store.

Such fun.

We washed our hands a million times a day and everything smelled like Stardrops. We wore masks and looked like the kind of people we all would have crossed the street to avoid in the Before Times.

People cared.

Two years later and of course we’re back to nobody gives a fuck. The Tories of course, it transpires, never did as they carried on partying regardless & others who did the same were punished with enormous fines. Except now the young ones have all got global learning delay, attachment issues, anxieties and screwed up mental health. But at least the virus has gone now right?

Right?

Stay Safe people. Be nice. Do fun shit again. Make yourself some good memories. They’ll keep you warm and fuzzy when we’re all huddled together in a concrete bunker sometime in the future, fighting over a can opener and eating rats out of a basket.

Xx

An insight into my thoughts…

While I was away the other weekend and the family were going full lumberjack and lopping trees down, they found an old digital watch in a drawer. It was constantly beeping apparently but Bman can’t hear it!

It got thrown outside by all accounts underneath the chopped down tree branches. Seems they then had the idea of strapping it to the washing line pole where it’s incessant beep is now amplified by the metal.

…and this is where my mind went into overdrive when I first heard it because obviously nobody told me about any of this.

So I was on the doorstep last week, Tuesday maybe. Having a recreational relaxer in the moonlight and I hear this beeping.

I ignore it at first. Then it begins to bother me. What is it? Is it someone’s distant house alarm? Am I going to have to bust into my elderly neighbour’s house again like that time she couldn’t hear her smoke alarm and her milk pan was filling the house with smoke and I had to rescue her? After a bit of a wander around the back garden I track down the offending defective watch and think “Of course!”
“Why wouldn’t there be a digital watch strapped to my washing line pole?” I smile about it and make a note to question the family the next day, which is when I get the full story.

Since then though my mind has taken a twisted turn. Sat on the step the other night lost in thought under the moonlight it occurred to my raddled candyfloss brain that the beeping might actually be some kind of Twelve Days of Christine (Inside No9) situation. Or Life on Mars or something.

What if I was actually in a coma in the real world and everything I knew and thought was reality was actually some kind of mental construct. A world of my own design. In which case where is my Gene Hunt? This then led to but if that was the case, why the hell would I have invented a pandemic in my mind or deaths of friends and family, or the current alarming situation with Russia? So now every time I sit or stand on the back step at night and hear the constant metronome of the beep beep beep beep beep I wonder if I am in a hospital bed somewhere and if my family and having yet another conversation about whether to switch off my life support or not.

Because that, my friends, is how my thought processes work.

Have a nice day. Enjoy it while you can, even if it’s not a real day and actually you’re really plugged into the Matrix having your energy harvested by aliens.

..and relax

On my birthday I asked family for cash towards a spa break. Put it to good use over the weekend and spent 2 lovely nights at a spa hotel near Warrington.

Had to get there first though!

Headed to Manchester after work on Saturday to spend the evening at my sister’s. That was a palaver!
Simple enough journey by rail, in fact I managed to get an earlier train and the last tuna roll form Greggs to eat on the way. Arriving in Manc though, I was already aware that the trams were to cock and my bro in law was going to have to pick me up from Old Trafford which was as far as the trams were going in the right direction. Could it be that simple? No of course not. As I got off the train the dodgy handle on my wheely case, which I have always struggled to pop down, now refused to pop back up again! No matter how much I wrestled with it, it would not play ball and pop up. This meant carrying the case. Not ideal at all as it was rather heavy. Filled with sex toys to entertain myself with at my spa hotel and sweets to eat while I was there. And my book and Bananagrams etc. I got on a tram going in the right direction at Victoria which then terminated at Exchange Square – a mere one stop away! Fooks Saaaake. So I then had to lug the bag of doom through Manchester town centre to Piccadilly Gardens to try get a tram there. That took ages and a lot of silent cursing and the bag banging against my legs, consequently bruising me to hell. My legs now look like I’ve been in a car crash! I had to navigate through a melee of homeless people fighting outside Primark. I think I may have been the only sober person in the whole of Manchester. It was awful! I was getting very stressed out lumping the stupid bag and getting a sweat on. I got to Piccadilly Gardens & guess what? No trams going anywhere remotely near to Old Trafford. Sister then calls me to say can I get to Piccadilly Station to get a train in 8 minutes time.

No! was the short answer to that! So she sent off my poor bro-in-law on a mission to collect me if I could make my way to the taxi rank behind Piccadilly. Cue more lumping of bag of hatred past more unhelpful people who looked as if they had been drinking since breakfast.

Finally got to my sister’s by about 8:30pm. Poor bro-in-law had to go back out again as he had forgotten to buy her some wine. I was immediately herded up stairs to read a bedtime story to my nieces. So if my sister is reading, the character Soot now has a west country accent – just so you know.

🙂

First thing in the morning I dismantled the bag of death to sort the handle out as there was no way I was carrying it anywhere ever again. Managed to get it up (ooer) but dare not even attempt to put it down again. At least now I could wheel the bugger. Just as well really given that my battle with the transport system of Greater Manchester was not yet over!

After watching Encanto with my nieces, having a bounce on the trampoline and being cajoled into playing Just Dance, we set off to walk into Alty for me to get my train to Oxford Rd. Train cancelled! Information which might have been useful to know on the TrainPal app before I bought the ticket. Then followed a long and protracted and ultimately pointless conversation with a pair of disinterested metrolink platform staff about how I could best get into the city centre. I say metrolink workers but one of them told me he “just wears the hat and hi vis” but doesn’t actually work for them. He then told us all about getting yelled at by disgruntled passengers who thought he worked for metrolink. Lose the hat and hi-vis dude – that might help! Neither of them were especially helpful regarding whether I could use the now useless train ticket to get the tram as far as Old Trafford. The replacement bus supposedly being sent by Northern Rail in lieu of the cancelled train was yet to arrive, despite supposedly having left Knutsford at 1030am…..it was now noon! It was turning out to be a stresser of a day again transportwise.

After waiting for Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dummer to supposedly check that I could in fact use my rail ticket on the tram and getting bored of waiting. I just got on the tram anyway. Pity the fool of an inspector who might challenge me. Of course nobody got on. It was Sunday and seemingly the entire transport system for Manchester had gone to shite. Next stop on my magical mystery tour was a replacement bus driven by an unfeasibly happy bus driver from Stretford into Manc. Even managed to get an earlier train to Warrington. Taxi to the hotel where I flopped onto a sofa in the lounge in blessed relief, reading my Bob Mortimer biography while I waited to check in.

2 days of selfish Me Time and pampering ensued. I had a Rebalancing Spa Ritual on Sunday evening which was absolutely dreamy. A facial, a scalp massage (where I pitied the poor therapist as I had already been for a swim so my hair must have been rank) and a lower leg and foot scrub & massage. If I could have that every day, I really would. This is what I’d do if I had money. Get spa treatments all the time. Inbetween swims and eating. Back massage the following day and a lazy time, reading, more swims, steam room, Bananagrams, utilising the toys in the bag. Bliss. May as well be chilled and relaxed for the end of the world.

Far less of a mare on transport getting home which was good as I had work to go to.

Got home and although it didn’t look like the loo had been wiped at all since I left, at least the fallen tree had been chopped up without anyone severing a limb. And apparently a joint effort between Bman and A! Father and Daughter bonding over manual work with a cheapo Lidl chainsaw. Nice!

Self care people. Do it!

Xx