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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


I’m not sure what I’m saying but that has never stopped me speaking before

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So Charles Manson died.
The ‘mass murderer’ who never actually killed anyone, he just got his followers to do that shit for him.  They didn’t fuck around either. No half-hearted killing here folks.  Those guys meant business.  Let’s not forget all that creeping about in people’s houses on a night ‘as practise’ before even the La Bianca murders happened.  Those dudes were batshit crazy and then some!

What make someone hang off every word of someone who puts those ideas into their head? They must be nuttier than a truck load of Snickers bars already right?

My friend and I have a bit of a thing for the evolution of The Cult. (the weird brainwashy type, not the ‘She Sells Sanctuary’ type – or is that The Mission? – I forget)

Who joins these things?  What type of person signs up?  I kind of get it why all those people followed Jim Jones back in the 70’s.  They wanted a better life in a nation where they felt unfairly treated.  They were promised a Utopian dream in the jungle, away from society, to grow veg in useless soil and live happily ever after…….aaaaand then it all went tits up when he started titting people up and publicly spanking them and having congressmen shot.  Cue vats of Kool Aid and 900 men, women and children writhing in poisoned pain and foaming at the mouth, laid out in the sun bloated and unclaimed.


Old Marshall Applewhite and his league of loons at the Heaven’s Gate.  Doing themselves in with poisoned pudding in order to leave their ‘earthly vehicles’ (bodies) and fly off into a non-existent spaceship hidden in the tail of Haley’s Comet.



**Not actual crime scene footage**


Where does it all start?  One day you’re feeling a bit disillusioned with life, next you’re barricaded into a Texas ranch getting BBQd by the FBI!  Or you’re stabbing pregnant women to death or releasing sarin gas on the subway.  WTF?  How does it get to that stage and you’re still alright with the situation?

Can these leaders really be that charismatic or is it a drip, drip, drip feed of believable horseshit over a period of time that makes a man or woman nod and hmmm in agreement, then decide to form an orderly queue with their kids to drink the Koolaid.


There hasn’t been a big cult mass suicide in a while.  The loons these days seem to favour the lone suicide bomber who takes down innocents on his/her way to a non-existent paradise land.
Or perhaps we’re all signed up to cults of various appearances and we are so brainwashed we don’t even know it.   The cult of ‘Strictly’.  The cult of ‘I’m a celebrity’ (are you though?) The cult of ‘Black Friday’ (spend spend spend and join the cult of credit card debt).

Obey your sponsor master.  Drink the Kool Aid. Don’t drink the Kool Aid. I can’t decide.
We can’t think for ourselves. The TV and Media tell us what to think and what to buy, then Alexa orders it for us while we’re asleep.

As you can probably tell. I am feeling a bit ‘meh’ this drizzly November Monday. I am disillusioned, although I couldn’t really explain why or what with.  Not that ‘meh’ that I’m bombing life off to go and kneel at the feet of a false Messiah though.

Not yet.

I’d start my own – The Branch Kitidians or something but there’s no point.

I’m lucky if I get replies to my texts, never mind a cult following of hapless and devoted followers.



Literally the creepiest cult leader ever – Mr Kane from Poltergiest 2


This one time at band camp….

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So in the wake of the Harvey Weinstein or whatever his names is, scandal – many more allegations have come to light.  Kevin Spacey is being erased from his latest movie. People have had their knee touched at Westminster and now Aled Jones is being investigated for pestering someone via text over a decade ago.

Aled Jones? FFS!  What next? Alan Titchmarsh trimmed my bush shocker!


Well hello…

What does everyone make of all this?

It’s one thing to force someone into a sex act or have them undress for you for no reason or promise you work in exchange for sexual favours. However, should we all start bringing up every last drunken bumbling teenage feel-up or inappropriate text after a beer too many?  Feign to deny we haven’t all been suggestive or flirtily over-familiar from time to time. My friends and I send inappropriate texts and messages all the time. Calling each other cunts  and making lewd gags.

I heard a story about a guy who twice asked out a work colleague but was rebuffed both times.  She has since brought a harassment claim over it.  For goodness sake?  Unless of course the texts were sexually threatening – I think that’s going a bit too far.

I once get felt up by a teenage suitor on a walk back from Sainsbury’s.  Lad tried to stick his hand down the back of my knickers.  I’ve looked him up on Linkedin and it seems he’s some kind of car salesman (can’t say I’m surprised).  Had he become a wealthy celebrity perhaps I’d be more likely to bring that all back up and file a lawsuit.

Where will it end?

I think we need more stories of people meeting celebrities who were nice to them. Or perhaps celebs putting in claims against the general public.

An old friend and I once chased Dermot O’ Leary down Clapham High Street when he was in his T4 VW Beetle.  I fully expect to receive a court summons anytime soon and will be disappointed if I don’t.  It was the same night I heckled Paul Oakenfold doing a gig on Clapham Common.  I kept shouting at him to do
‘Don’t you Want Me Baby’ andTogether in Electric Dreams’ (I was in an alcohol-fuelled confusion at the time of who he was.


 These are not the same person

Nottingham shenanigans

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Spent Saturday night in Nottingham on another ghost hunt.  Mock me if you wish, but they can be very entertaining and it’s cheaper than going to the pub. It also means I can get to explore places not usually open to the public, or if they are – how much more fun is it to rake about in them after dark?
We arrived at the hotel – Park Inn by Radisson and I was very excited to realise it included a full breakfast buffet (I’m easily pleased).  My pal hadn’t eaten, so once we’d checked in and found our room we headed to the restaurant so she could eat before our long night ahead.  She was concerned we might look a little geekish in our matching Paranormal Investigator hoodies but she needn’t have worried.  We were about the only guests there who weren’t part of a Science Fiction literature and art conference.  By a country mile, we were most certainly NOT the geekiest people in the hotel!


After an Anneka Rice Treasure Hunt style car journey and musical car parks, we finally arrived a fashionable 30 minutes late to the Galleries of Justice in the centre of Nottingham.  We hadn’t missed much and I found out lots of interesting history about the place from the security dude while I waited for my pal to park up.

It was the usual fare of,  “Is there anybody there?”. Except we weren’t allowed to say the word “anybody” in case we invited in demagorgons from another realm or something.  We were having a go on a ouija board, (which usually bore me to death), it’s all ideomotor effect let’s face it.  Nothing much was happening.  It was all rather,  “Ready to order Madam?” Julie Walters Two Soups.  Lol.
One of the event staff asked if we were getting anything.  When we said it was all moving rather slowly (like a glacier), he said
“Right, well I’ll tell you now, it’s an 8 year old girl in a white nightie with long blonde hair and she’s called Abigail.”  I asked him how he knew that and was told, Because while you’re on that board, I’m talking to them all”.
I did point out that we were wasting our time then sat in the dark with our fingers stuck to a glass, talking to ourselves, if supposedly he had all the gen already.  It was a bit of a Shirley Ghostman


I was mostly looking forward to exploring the extensive underground cave system that runs underneath NottinghamI had no idea it was so massive?  I thought it would be like Sunbridge Wells in Bradford. 

Fascinating stuff.  You should check it out.  Although after having gone in the dead of night,  wandering about with torches off and laser grids on, I expect it’s not as thrilling in the daytime when full of tourists and school parties.

I bottled a chance to do a lone vigil in a pitch black cell, but my pal had a go (and a snooze).  I did learn that a fart in an oubliette is a bit echoey and that eating cheese on toast for supper makes my belly make very strange noises in the dead of night that tend to alarm people in the dark.
My friend learned that she needs to tighten the straps on her swimsuit to avoid any Janet Jackson at the Superbowl type incidents. (I hasten to add that weren’t in swimsuits in the caves at 4am – this was the next day at the hotel).
We shared a hotel lift with Adrian Tchaikovsky who kindly pointed us in the direction of the pool and we almost got a job clearing a house of an unwanted spirit, but my friend wasn’t quick enough off the mark to take on the job.  I blame 4 hours sleep for impairing her business sensibilities*.

So, despite not encountering anything remotely ghostlike, never mind demons from another realm – at best a few flickery lights, doubtless due to dodgy wiring and an odd feeling in the claustrophobic locked dungeon cell – we had a fun, but spiritually uneventful, night.  Funnily enough, nothing like the episode of ‘Most Haunted’ where it was all objects being thrown (**cough, ahem Karl**) and lifts stopping and starting.

The only thing we almost brought home was someone else’s mattress, when one almost landed on the windshield as we drove out of Nottingham.  True story!

Next stop on our Ghost Adventures will be Knottingley Town Hall in February and a revisit to the infamous East Drive house in March for a sleepover.


I think he can hear you Ray


Sleep tight y’all.

Ciao Tutti Xx


* FYI we charge reasonable rates and no storage fees







Clothes maketh the man (unless they’re massive or shit)

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Bman has a new uniform at work.  This apparently includes a ladies twin-set and trousers so long that I’m struggling to turn them up (no wonderweb wide enough), so have had to ask a seamstress friend to have a go on the old Singer.  As for the shirts?  Dear lord. He ordered a size too big (fearing inferior material would mean they would surely shrink in the wash).  I’m not saying they’re enormous but Billy Smart called and asked for his Big Top back! FFS!
Pretty sure that while I was ironing one of them, there was woman in a spangled leotard swinging from armpit to armpit on a swing!


Meanwhile I ordered a polka dot dress on Ebay to wear next Friday for Children in Need at work.  It came on Thursday and to be honest I’ve seen and felt better quality Halloween costumes in Poundland.  If you wore it too close to a radiator on full whack, it’d probably melt…So that’s going back.  The seller had the balls to ask if I’d accept a 20% refund and just keep it.  WTF?  And use it for what exactly?  Bman’s got more substantial quality bags for life in his car than this thing. 

Why is everything just shit?  Nobody can be arsed anymore.  So annoying.

I bought a super bright torch recently, also from ebay. Wanted to use it for my ghosthunting excursions.  Well, considering it was meant to be 15,000 lumens, the fucker doesn’t light up at all because no batteries known to man fit the bastard thing!  Listed as taking 3xAAAs.  Nope! Looks as though it should be 1xC battery.  No. Too narrow.   Again, requested a refund and was asked if I’d accept a partial refund. Erm No. I want all my money back thank you very much.  I would have quite liked a torch that shone at 15,000 lumens rather than a useless shell, but hey ho.

So tonight when I’m raking about at the Galleries of Justice in Nottingham with Dr Venkman, my ghostbusting pal,  I shall have to rely on my bog standard pocket torch.

Ciao MoFos xX


Still going a day at a time

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Felt rather bleurghhhh toward the end of the week, and I can’t really say why. Just like everything is just a bit shit and you miss your mates and feel a bit lonely even though you’re surrounded by noise all day, every day.

I shall try convey what I mean via the medium of meme.  I feel that meme is the way forward for teaching too. I already feel like I impart knowledge via Youtube clips these days.

I feel marginally better for spending £30 on ingredients to make a Christmas cake. Cheaper to buy one I know, but I do kind of like making them.

Also, when in doubt and life feels a bit crap… have a bubble bath. (Dont bother zooming in to see if there’s a reflection of my growler in the bath fixture – I already checked. We’re all good.)


They’re my knees not my tits