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Author Archives: TheDHW

The black rabbit comes to us all in the end

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Been cleaning today whilst singing along to Christmas music. I cranked up the volume for ‘Baby it’s cold outside‘ and stuck a finger up at the #MeToo brigade who have banned it from the airwaves for its allegedly ‘rapey’ undertones.  If the lass wanted to leave, she’d have gone home. She wanted to stay and have another drink and maybe a bit of the other. He wasn’t pinning her down underneath the Christmas Tree and trying to get his fingers in her tights FFS!

I then turned the music off to show some respect when the funeral cars for my recently deceased next door neighbour arrived. Poor bugger has been bed bound for I reckon about 2 years now. In his 80s bless him.  Lovely man.  Bman went round there recently and then came home saying he couldn’t think of anything to say to him and ended up coming out with, “try hang on in there til Christmas eh?”  FFS!

Don’t bother with all that black hearse and dark suits carry on when I snuff it (which could be any time now, in 2 weeks time I’ll be 47!)  Forty fucking Seven?  How?  Why do I still feel and act like a 17-year-old? – until I see my refelection then I just sigh. 

Just chuck me in a dumpster when I’m dead and have a party.  Bloody price of funerals is astronomical anyway.  I’ve never spent more than £50 on a coat in my life so no point blowing the budget on a wooden box I won’t even feel the benefit of.  Stick me in the composting bin with the cat shit and leaves and spend the real money on gin and Es.

Dumpster

 

Going to pay respects of a different kind tomorrow evening. A farewell send off for a colleague who has recently tunneled out of Auschwitz to begin a new life elsewhere.  I found out today that this is to be a double whammy of farewells and good lucks.

🙂

To all those that remain I’m just going to leave this here and say that when it says ‘corridor’, I read coop.  Save yourself MoFos. Save yourself!  There is life out there. It’s not as we know it, but it’s life…

into the light

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Tin openers – £600,000!!

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So last night Bman and I had a rare night out together, but not really a date night because Linda was with us. 

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We went to The Mighty Fax to watch a screening of a film made for telly from the 80’s – Threads written by the brilliant Barry Hines and a Q&A with one of the stars – Reece Dinsdale of ‘Home to Roost’ fame. (And as Linda pointed out but I had forgotten – ex-husband of Corrie’s Gail Platt who died in a boating accident whilst trying to fake his own death in a boating accident). As you do…

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If you are unfamiliar with Threads, I strongly suggest you see it, but possibly not as a ‘Christmas Night Out’ or if you are of a nervous disposition.  Jolly and festive it is not!  It scared the shit out of pretty much everyone in the UK when it came out in 1984.  Made in an era before CGI, green screen and whatnot it’s amazing how terrifying a pair of melting milk bottles and a limping cat can be – even today!
It was actually shown in high schools too.  I remember it being shown to us in Y4 (whatever that is these days? Y10 maybe?).  I knew I didn’t particularly want to see it because I had already watched it when it was shown on the TV some years before and was still traumatized. I remember me and a couple of pals asking to be excused from the English class and we sat in the cloakroom, (quite probably sharing a Regal diddy in the girls’ loo).

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That time Gill was in a film

If anything encourages you to do the Frankie Boyle idea in the case of a nuclear attack and just get the kids in the car and drive towards the blast, then this film is it! I had forgotten how much the grim reality of ‘surviving’ is depicted in this movie.  Fuck all that mattresses up against the door and stockpiling bottled water. I think I’d rather just get incinerated outside Freeman Hardy Willis just after I’d pissed my slacks (people who’ve already seen it will know that reference).

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Interesting discussion held afterward as to whether or not it should be remade. I think no it shouldn’t.  It would end up being too CGI and like one of those apocalyptic films like Independence Day or 2012 – both of which were good films – but as entertainment not as a stark, harsh slap of reality on the face.  It was scary because it was so normal.  Because it was set in Sheffield (where I actually lived when it came out). Because it was very relevant in the 1980s.  Although it has to be said with the lunatics taking over the asylum these days and the idiotic fingers on the buttons it is just as relevant now as it was over 30 years ago.

I think it should still be shown in schools, but no doubt todays youth wouldn’t give a shit with their tiny attention spans and lack of empathy. Perhaps if they showed it in the form of a set of Instagram posts or memes it might make a small impact (for about 2 minutes until something else caught their eyes – like a new grime track or Cardi B live streaming having a shit on youtube or something).*

Naturally, Linda and I managed to interject a bit of comedy into the evening.  She mentioned something about the children in The Polar Express looking as though they were all a bit blind due to the way they had been animated – just as a lady with a guide dog arrived and sat on our row.  We then went into League of Gentlemen ‘Ernest Foote’ mode.  “There’s a man sitting next to you. Not another man. I am the man”  Cue much stifled Mutley sniggering and that was before the film.  FFS!

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They can tell these days, they’ve got tests

At the end, we both, without saying anything to one another at the time due to a gentleman (Bman) being present, noted the size of a certain Mr Dinsdale’s trouser bulge. It was only today on Messenger that we both mentioned it. 

😀  😀  😀

Right. I’m off now to stockpile tinned peaches, water purification tablets and corner the stock market in bin liners in case I need to bag up the fam and leave them outside the door for the rats. And don’t forget a fucking tin opener man!

 

 

*no idea who Cardi B actually is or what she does.  It is a she right?  I’m almost 48.  I know nowt remember.

😀

 

 

 

Parenting 101 – out on a school night

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Last night, despite feeling unwell & being gruff as Kathy Beale & Phyllis Pearce after a Woodbine smoking contest, I took my eldest to Manchester to a gig. 
It was a band she had introduced me to at Boomtown  Fair in August.  ‘Dutty Moonshine’. Not sure how best to describe their music genre TBH. Electroswing/jazz/hiphop/bassy/grime, probably best covers all bases. 

After a mare of train journey there brought to you, not just by poor old Northern Fail but TransPenis (not very) Express.  Northern, in fact, was the better of the two. Not exactly running to time but far better than the upwards of 40minute delays on TP!  We abandoned ship at one point at Leeds and fought our way through the eleventy thousand people clamoring right up to the platform edge in their efforts to try and be the first aboard when a train finally did arrive. We ended up on a Northern train bound for Manchester Victoria heading back the way we had just come! FFS! But at least we were moving.

Met my sibs, who were several wines in at this stage after having been out for dinner already. Got to the venue about 45 minutes later than we’d hoped but it was fine. Got to see the support -ASkillz. Decent DJing times – and then the main event.  In the words of back in the day; “Check your bassbins I’m telling ya!”“Bass! how low can you go?”   Low, is the answer. Dirty dirty low!  Nice!  We danced and bounced and skanked with unsexy Jesus. Rho was pistol-whipped in the face by untethered dredlocks, my brother suffered a big toe injury (possibly caused by unsexy Jesus). My sister proved particularly inept at trying to hide the fact that she was buying booze for her 15-year-old niece.  I thought I might have thrown my back out during a particularly heavy bouncy sesh but it seems ok today.

It’s all a far cry from taking her to see stuff like Hi-5 or the dreaded Little Mix with her sister. Where has the time gone?  My babies aren’t babies anymore.  It doesn’t seem that long since we had to leave The Sooty Show at Scarborough Spa because she cried and said it was “too loud”. (Me & Bman were gutted – those tickets were a fiver!)  Now we’re out in Manchester on a school night getting sweaty and jumping about.

Quote of the night from my sister, on form as per, “Let’s get to the front and stroke them”. Also at the end, as we were leaving; “hold my bag” as she then ran down the street, dragging Rho with her after one of the band to get a selfie.

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Good times.

Bit mutton this morning if I’m honest. Worth it though.

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All Alan wants for Christmas is his 2 front teeth

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So Alan Lickman is now free of jaw wires and is now signed off by the vets. I took him up to the vet on Wednesday morning in the pissing rain. It took longer than usual to walk down Wild Grove as he kept shuffling about in the cat box and impeding my progress.

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National Lampoon times:

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So he is now finally allowed out and we can dispense with the litter tray, thank goodness! Our garden waste bin is now full of cat shit and litter!

Gross.  

In the light of what appears to be the festive season already.  As manifest by the fact that Elton John is trying the get us to spend money at John Lewis and people are fighting in Lidl over giant cuddly carrots – me, Bman and Linda are going on a night out next week to see ‘Threads’ on the big screen plus a Q&A afterward with actor Reece Dinsdale.  Threads at Halifax Square Chapel

Christmassy!

I wonder if there’ll be popcorn, or whether we just get to eat dead sheep off the floor or eat from unlabelled tins of generic meat?

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a post has no name

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I may have mentioned before that my childerbeast are members of their school Diversity Club. Naturally, this makes me proud. However, it has also made me feel somewhat of a dinosaur because I am often made to feel as if I am being offensive to the world.  This started when I asked for clarification on the various nomenclature these days.  I may have become a bit facetious (but if a woman can’t be facetious in the comfort of her own home then where will it all end?)  All I wanted to know was firstly (a) what is the difference between transgender, non-binary, asexual, gender-fluid, pansexual, pangender, etc. and (b) why the necessity to label oneself at all? 

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Maths teacher classic


This led to a lively debate where I learned new terms, such as cisgender, graysexual, gynosexual, omnisexual and a dozen or so other names which seemed to me to essentially mean the same thing and some which made me roll my eyes in despair.  I soon began to regret my decision to quit drinking until Xmas.
   I didn’t help matters by getting the cat involved and asking him which species he was choosing to identify as today – just in case he had decided to no longer be a cat.  I was made to feel as if I was being as un-pc as Norman Collier in a balaclava pretending to be a black dude. (Obviously, I can’t find any evidence of this on google, but trust me, that shit happened in the 1970s).

On further googling I discovered that there is now a whole new list of pronouns.  Neopronouns in fact, for people who don’t like to use the gender-defining pronouns of she/her or he/him,

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I’m all for being inclusive and one love and all that, but when I saw this, I did kind of want to stab myself in the face with a fork and pour myself a half pint of scotch. (Can I say scotch anymore or is that racist now?)

TBH, as long as everyone involved is consenting and of legal age and mentally capable of making such a decision, I don’t give a shit who is attracted to or banging who, or not banging them in fact because despite being attracted to them, they’re closed for business sexually.  If I’m a non-coloured, Jedi/Wiccan, birth female who sees beauty in everything and everyone, with boobs and a working vagina who occasionally masturbates, but doesn’t fiddle with kiddies or animals – do I need a new name & genus?
Why does it all need to be so complicated? I thought the whole idea was to be non-labeling?

My own children are making me feel as if I am a modern-day Alf Garnet in my own home every time I crack a joke or get annoyed because I can’t clap to show appreciation at a public theatrical event anymore, in case I upset anyone autistic.

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Please do not say gaylord, bummer, fag, he, she or in fact anything… just in case…

 

Somehow we also got on to the subject of Pavlov’s Dogs and Shrodinger’s Cat.  I think it may have been something to do with eldest childerbeast beginning to cough and salivate when an advert for the Co-Op came on TV. I said something about it being a Pavlovian response from all the ‘values’ shoved at her school all the time (because apparently nobody ever thought of being themselves, sharing stuff or working together etc before the bloody Co-Op came along). She then said, “is that the one with the cat in a box?” Which then prompted a further discussion about Pavlov and Shrodinger.

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I was on firmer ground here thankfully.  My youngest, who recently declared (whilst ironically glued to her tech)why do we even need science anyway? it’s all rubbish” (another fork to the eye moment for me) was out of her comfort zone now and I was back in control.  

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Pep – both intelligent & stupid

She went to bed bemused and defeated. 

Mum wins this round.

So today on Armistice Day – 100 years since teenagers and young people (mostly men) fought and died for their country and 100 years later most people can’t be arsed to put their own rubbish in the bin – we made non-binary, gender-fluid entities of an inadequately sugared & gingered, trans-age ethnic nature.

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May they grow up to love and be loved by, well whoever or whatever really, as long as it’s not some fucktard I used to teach

and I’ll just leave these here so you can ponder (to quote TLOG’s Bernice) “which toilet to go in, while Western society burns down around us”

 

 

 

 

images courtesy of google images

“Is that all she’s getting?”

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So let’s discuss the Louis Theroux show ‘Altered States’ from last night’s TV.  

 

Polygamous relationships?  Yay or Nay? (In or Out!) Seems a tad unfair when some people can’t even get one partner never mind a queue of them.

The idea has its pros and cons for me, obviously dependent on who the protagonists were – Ready Player 1? Let’s go.  Tom Hardy?  Channing Tatum? Theo James? Come on down!

Rita Sue and Bob though? I’m oot! 

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….We’re having a ball


Someone else around the house so I would have to do even less housework than I already do, does have its merits. Double the income. I’d have no more money worries. But what if both blokes snored? One either side of you putting murderous thoughts into your head at 4am when you can no longer stand the sound. Suddenly it’s not such a grand idea, although if one of them was Theo, Channing or Tom, I’m sure you’d cut them some slack for a bit of snoring.

If it was Bman with extra ‘wives’ however, that would also be dependent on who they were? Would I be allowed to pick for him?  Kylie? Yolandi Visser? Billie Piper? Jennifer Aniston (Just threw those names out there, I have not given this any thought at all…)  What if they snored too?

I’m IN!

We met one ‘throuple’ on the show (all IT geeks – just saying) who all spooned together at night with their own little blankets. Beardyman, who fessed up to not being able to ‘last as long’ as Bob was the owner of a dinosaur blankie – go figure.  Beardyman often waits downstairs for Bob ‘to finish’ with his missus. This can take some time apparently (not always a good thing ladies – am I right?)  How depressing is that for poor Beardyman?
Bob did not look like the kind of guy where that would have been your first thought about him… It goes to show that you can’t judge a book by its cover.  Bob also looked about 17 and smug as fuck.

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I thought I were great…

 

TBH I am not sure that some of the people involved in this documentary were as on board with the situation as they were making out – when they assured Louis how ‘fine’ they were with it – the eyes said otherwise. 

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This is Jerry.  Jerry is not really OK

 

The Jerry/Joe/Heidi arrangement was clearly even odder than the fact that they had all their clothes on racks and rails all over the house like some kind of jumble sale.  Get a wardrobe FFS never mind a 4K TV (I don’t even know what that is).

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What did I say Jerry? / You said we could have a 3way with Joe/ I DID NOT say that Jerry!


Jerry was so up for a threeway with Joe. (Jerry wanted IN on Joe for shizzle!) but greedy Heidi was having none of it, despite Louis best efforts at trying to set that up.

Louis’ foray into the world of the ‘sensual dinner’ wasn’t quite as promising for me as the idea of a spare man around the house.
9 & half weeks with Mickey ‘melt face’ Rourke and Kim Bassinger it was not!  It was just a roomful of oversexed hippies in kimonos rubbing brie into each other’s faces and groaning in ecstasy because there was a flaming hot Monster Munch circling their ringpiece. (I may have made that last part up).

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Do not spill that on the duvet Roy!

I was put more in mind of Bruce Bogtrotter from Matilda or Ron Weasley in Harry Potter.

Strawberries, chocolate and all that, is all very well in the privacy of your own home but not in a lounge full of sweaty free-lovers spooning hummus into one another.

Yikes!

The Twittersphere, of course, went into overdrive about it all.  I can’t wait to see what the man investigates next Sunday.

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Don’t know what to call this post so I shall just name it Dave. Everyone knows a Dave right?

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At the weekend the Childerbeast and I went to an open day at Leeds Music College. Just for a look around, so the girls could get an idea of what courses are out there and get a glimpse at what Uni might be like.  Obviously, we only saw the good stuff. The music rooms, the academic bits. Not the aftermath of Freshers Week or a ‘left to the last minute’ dissertation, a month’s worth of washing etc. 

Not that I would know anything about those things of course. Not having ever been to Uni because I’m too daft.  Closest I got was doing my HLTA at Leeds Trinity a few years ago and that wasn’t even on campus and it only took 10 weeks.  

Eldest child doesn’t want to go to college in Leeds of course. She wants to put some distance between her and her embarrassing parents. And why shouldn’t she?
Youngest says she does want to stay in Leeds and live at home, but give her a couple more years and I bet she’ll change her mind.

The best part of the day out for me was finally visiting a Vietnamese Street Food place on Leeds Market. It’s run by a couple I know from school, who now send their children to my swim classes.  Can highly recommend it. Check it out Banh & Mee it’s called.

The downside of the day out was that it served to make me feel like I’ve wasted my life. That I am too thick to ever have gone to Uni. That my children are about to leave me, yet it doesn’t seem two minutes since I was changing their (eco-friendly) nappies and blending veggies for their lunch.  My best bet now at accomplishing anything of any use is to make sure they do go to Uni and escape, even if it means I am left alone with Bman and just Netflix for company.  I came over all melancholy on the bus journey home, looking in through people’s windows wondering what their lives were like. Did they feel that their lives had been successful? Did they have enough money for Christmas? What if all of this was a total nothing? What if we were all like those people who live in the head of a dandelion seed or whatever it is in ‘Horton Hears a Who’?

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We’re on there somewhere

Or those tiny dudes who live in a locker at the train station on ‘Men in Black’ worshipping a watch

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All hail K!

I know that in the grand scheme of things everything is bollocks, but what if it actually really is utter, total meaningless bollocks and we’re all just plodding along on the head of a cosmic dandelion seed waiting for death and that everything we have ever done and will ever do, is completely pointless?

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Meanwhile, while people frequent food banks and girls miss school due to not being able to afford sanitary products, the skies this weekend are ablast with fireworks ‘celebrating’ the fact that over 400 years ago a bunch of dudes tried to blow up the Houses of Parliament.  Crikey, if we celebrated every time there had been a failed attempt at a terrorist attack at the heart of society, we’d be lighting fireworks 4 times a bloody week!

On that note, I’ll leave you so I can ponder how the hell I can afford to pay for Christmas – another celebration – this time of the birth of a man who may or may not have existed at all.

Don’t overthink things y’all. That shit will keep you up at night. I blame the thin veil at this time of year – don’t let the demons in man.

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Xx