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Author Archives: TheDHW

Don’t go there…stay indoors. Shut the blinds.

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In my mission to finally dress as Melanie Daniels (Tippi Hedren’s character) from ‘The Birds’ at Halloween, I was forced to venture into town today.  Scouring the charity shops of Bradford for an appropriate sage green suit or dress and jacket.

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I’d needed a wee as soon as I got off the bus of course, but refused to pay 30p to use the fetid public toilets at the Interchange, so on the way to Sunbridge Wells, I ducked into ‘Spoons.

Fuck me!

Wednesday lunchtime and it was rammed full of people. Mostly olds. All eating and taking full advantage of the endless coffee/tea refills.

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Charity shops and vape shops are about the only thing left on what was the old High Street now. Everything has closed down since the Broadway Shopping Centre opened further down town.  Obviously I had to go into Millets – a closing down sale in a camping store – I was like a moth to a flame.  Managed to stop myself making purchase of an emergency bivvy bag for the old ‘Grab Bag’.  Fuck Yellowhammer, I’ve had one of those at the ready for years. Just in case. Brexit chaos? Sentient AI Uprising? Zombie Apocalypse? Alien Invasion?#beprepared  

Speaking of the zombie apocalypse. It could well have begun already in Bradford and nobody would notice – like when Shaun goes to the shop in ‘Shaun of the Dead’.

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I was bumped into outside Superdrug by a man who looked like a zombie Che Guevara. I think he was trying to steal my wallet as I put it back in my bag. He was unsuccessful, due to my quick reflexes and the fact that he looked as if he’d had a few hits of spice so was a bit unsteady on his feet to say the least. 

After about an hour I was beginning to feel like I was in an episode of The Walking Dead  meets The Real Housewives of Buttershaw and considered heading back to ‘Spoons for a pint or 5 just to forget that this is where I live. This craphole where I brought my children into the world. Where I will likely never escape from. Where I hope they escape from as soon as they can. Were I am in no doubt that there are other places just as shite, and worse than this. Don’t go to any of those places kids.  Aim high!

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Girls in so much make up – where do they think they were going? How much more slap do they put on if they’re going out-out?  Scaggy looking couple with scaggy looking child shouting at one another at the bus stop and exposing their clear lack of dental hygiene to everyone. More spice casualties bumping into me as they weaved their way down the street.

I managed to source a suitable outfit from Oxfam for £4 and get the rest of my shopping list and headed for the bus home before I either threw myself infront of one or went on a shooting spree. It could have gone either way. But every now and then you need to do this kind of stuff so you can evaluate your life and see that it could in fact be a fuck load worse.

Count your blessings y’all.

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I may need to break my no booze through the week ban and have a G&T to steady my nerves. 

😦

 

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…and another thing

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I forgot to mention yesterday another massive pet peeve of mine.

Quad bikes.

This is the appropriate way to use a quad. (There is one of me somewhere on the same quad but I can’t find it).

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Well perhaps not the most appropriate way… but at least it is being used on a working farm and not for hooning up and down the street .  If you are, let’s say, going out for, or delivering recreational pharmaceuticals in a residential neighbourhood, I strongly suggest using a more discreet vehicle for the purpose.

If you aint on a farm, rounding up livestock or whatever, you do not need a quad bike. And if you’re texting while on a quad then you are an utter bellend and a twat and the sooner you pile it into wall and take yourself out of the gene pool, the better.

Also can I just thank my Canadian cuz for the hair care tip about washing the weave with Fairy Liquid (other brands are available) to get rid of the chlorine build-up.  Did this after work yesterday, whacked on some conditioner especially for blondes and today I have this… lovely and soft.

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No filters and looking more like the goddess I feel like inside (when I’m not looking like a council estate scag on the outside) and hopefully less like any other jaded gone-to-seed heavy metal frontmen.

Right. Off to binge watch American Horror Story, Apocalypse. Where I shit you not, the mysterious organisation controlling the apparent re-population of the world after a nuclear war, is called ‘The Cooperative’. And it has the witches from the Coven in it.  Awesome!

Remember kids. Witchcraft isn’t just for Halloween.

Blessed be MotherFuckers!

Whatsup dudes?

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In a week where we are still none the wiser as to WTF is going on with our government (other than today I saw a news ‘story’ showing Boris Johnson and Michael Gove pulling a pint in a pub) – what else is happening?

I found myself walking to work quite happy in the early autumn sunshine, making a mental list of things that annoy the living daylights out of me.  These included, but are not limited to:-

  • People driving whilst using a mobile phone – specifically texting. – Don’t be a dick! Pull over if you’re that desperate to look at video clips of shite or ‘like’ a picture of your mate’s tea.

 

  • People who drop litter. Hate it. Hate it. Hate it! (And to the man who drove past me in a van and threw his half eaten chicken and chips out of the window into the road – you sir, are a fucking dirty cunt and I hope you step on an upturned plug!)

 

  • The demise of the wolf whistle.  Yeah you heard me.  Nobody dare say anything complimentary to anyone these days for fear of being dragged through the legal system or lynched. Now I’m fortunate enough to look half decent from a distance and an average passing speed of 30/40mph, so I do still get the odd appreciative look from the white van man or lone male driver – sometimes even a female driver. This is 2019 after all! Any port in a storm and all that. But not so much the tooting of the horn or the Wit Woo of the the wolf whistle.  I blame the #metoo brigade.  Yes, nobody is saying it’s ok to casting couch anyone or be used and abused without consent while you’re off your tits on Rum and Cokes at a party or whatever. But come on! I’m going to bring in the hashtag #tootme never mind #metoo.  Blow your horn! Wit your woo!  It’s about time we started appreciating one another again.  Not just for sexual purposes. You can find someone attractive or think they look fine without wanting to bang their brains out.  So let them know.  They might not think that much of themselves. A toot or a smile or a “Hey How you doin?” Or a simple “Love the shoes” could actually make someone’s day.  Reclaim the toot.  Hashtag tootme.  Get off your phones while you’re driving and check out the passing public and blow your motherfuckin horns in appreciation, whether it’s the full package, the hair, the shoes, the dress, the bag, the walk.  #tootme.

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Tonight I have chuckled to myself for far too long, as somehow whilst procrastinating doing any actual work, I got snagged on shit on Youtube etc and came to the realisation that I actually bear a disturbing resemblance to an aged Vince Neill of Motley Crue fame.  This in turn led to this…

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How is it that I can look like an aged Vince Neill, knackered Axl Rose and the fella from Megadeath?  It’s like the odd one out round on Have I got News for You.  It’s the mermaid hair/don’t care that does it I think.

FFS!

😀

Maybe that’s why white van men still check me out – they think I’m Axl Fucking Rose!

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Ciao for now Saturday night MoFos. Xx

What’s occurring people?

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A new term begins and what’s new?

I was awoken this morning to house alarms blaring in the street and my phone pinging with texts from the National Grid alerting me that there was a power outage that they were dealing with.  Who gave them my number? Why has this alert text never happened before when there has been a power cut?
Bman tells me that the local Fb page for local people was awash with complaints and wild speculation of the cause. Immigrants? Brexit? ElNino? The Russian Mafia? Aliens?
Suffice to say the power was restored fairly quickly and we didn’t have to resort to buying a generator from Lidl or stockpiling bottled water.

My new term at Koolkids has begun and although I could do with a few more learners in order for me to be able to afford Christmas this year, It is good to be back. I am on the look out for other work though to top up the coffers. Not sure how many years I can maintain this constant worry about the next term that I won’t have enough learners to afford to live.

Silver linings – I am not at school, wasting air, attempting, dismally, to impart knowledge to the disinterested and often downright rude, local kinder.

Eldest offspring is thus far, unimpressed with sixth form. She had a three day induction session, which consisted of looking around the school that she already attended. Then running about outside with the army and building structures from marshmallows in a lame team building exercise. Today she hauled her cookies all the way to the other ‘confederate’ (i.e. the other local high school where she has to attend classes) for a triple art session, only to be told the lesson was only for an hour.  She was home by 11am – piss wet through from the walk in the rain and not happy at all!

😦

The joy of being 16 and disgruntled with everything even though you’re beautiful and intelligent.  I remember it well (apart from the beautiful and intelligent bit).  LOL.

Well, time for me to head out into the pissing rain myself to walk to work.

Ciao Ciao MoFos Xx

 

Sh Sh Sh Shambala Pt2

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….So now on to Saturday.  Carnival day.  This year the theme was ‘Extinction’.  We had opted for blue macaws. Rio style.  My sister bought caped wing things and masks and this was the resulting glory.

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I had burst from the tent in slightly less, to a joint exasperated response of “NO!” from the teens.

😀

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Embarrassing mum Level 9

Bro in Law, always on board for a bit of fancy dress,  was meant to look like this….

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The Tick has lost a bit of weight

… but it was too hot for the old morph suit so he abandoned that look.
My sister was meant to don an amazing sequinned playsuit, but was too hot for that too (can’t believe I have no pics of that).

The teens opted out of the fancy dress other than the sweaty parrot masks on their heads, which compared to the other flock of blue macaws that we bumped into, looked pretty shite.
To be fair, eldest child tried to get involved last minute by wrapping a tropical island scene shower curtain round herself.

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I don’t know what my favourite fancy dress outfits were, but as usual, our fellow Shambalans went all out.  There were various animals, lots of dinosaurs.  A suited up group waving Shell placards and asking if anyone had seen any oil.  A lady just wearing a sash that said ‘compassion’ and I particularly liked the people dressed as Blockbuster video cards.

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This one is for you Mum

 

Saturday evening on the main stage was a strange and wonderful band called Henge who were like something from The Mighty Boosh.  If they’d sang ‘Eels up inside ya” I wouldn’t have been surprised. Best described as cosmic rave I guess.  Give them a whirl.

Mid Henge, me and the bro in law sloped off to watch 80’s snooker legend Steve Davis do a spot of DJing… like you do.  People kept running in and taking a photo and saying “Look, it’s Steve Davis!” and “Has he played Snooker Loopy by Chas n Dave yet?”

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Snooker Loopy

Such is the randomness of Shambala festival.  He didn’t have the crowds that DJ Rap,  Stanton Warriors or the amazing Helena Hauff did on Sunday night, but he was alright as it goes.

Saturday night I offered to take the little ones round the woods and then back to camp for late night camp hot chocolates, while sis and bro in law had some child free night time. I could also try to have a disco snooze to power up for the ‘OMG it’s the church’ 2am slot.  Niecelings had great fun shining their torches at me whenever I bent down in my sequinned skirt – “Aunty Kit has a big disco ball butt”

 

Eldest offspring had a bit of a hot chocolate/astrodust sherbert straw comedown and couldn’t quite cope with going back out into the melee, but she soldiered on, albeit with a face like a smacked arse.  She didn’t want to miss out on a bit of salvation from the Reverend and his Hail Marys.

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Where my hail Marys at?

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Sweet sexy cheeesus

While we were waiting for the show, we got talking to a man who asked us how festivals worked for us coming as a family.  He said in his capacity as a gay man there with his partner, he was interested in how different an experience it was for families.  He was a bit drunk and kept apologising, but was very lovely.  He told the girls that he hoped they were grateful to their awesome mother for taking them to festivals, because his mother had made him take part in a descant recorder competition as a teenager.  He’d spent his summer holidays practising ‘My heart will go on’ by Celine Dion.  I asked if I busted out a recorder would he be able to serenade us?  Sadly not, he said. He’d come last in the contest as he was so crap.
His parting words, before he fell over and after he’d kissed my grumpy faced eldest on the cheek were, “Think on!  Celine Dion.  Recorder contest.  That could have been you, but no, because you have a cool mum, you’re here instead. Be thankful”

Indeed kids.  Think on.  If your mother is a good ‘un – let her know you appreciate her.

🙂

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On Sunday, the festival had a new idea. They wanted to do a one minute silence across the site at 12 noon for people to ponder whatever they wanted.  Me and the eldest went to sit by the lake near the sand pit. The two younger ones went off to the Enchanted Woods, while sister etc were in the kids field.  At 12-noon a gong struck by the lake and you could have heard a  glittery sequinned pin drop! There was a small naked unknown child next to me at the time, eating an ice cream.  I put my finger to my lips and he just looked at me for a minute not making a single sound.  When the minute was up, the sounds of The Beatles, ‘All you need is love” rang out across site – and it was glorious. Utterly glorious…and very moving.  I may have had a teeny bit of sand in my eye.

The sun was still beating down and we’d been barefoot most of the weekend during the daytime – only employing the emergency ‘bog flops’ (a pair of Bman’s old flip flops) to wear when using the compost loos.

Sunday night after an amazing closing ceremony, I had a moment of pure joy, atop a podium in the Kamikaze, listening and dancing to Helena Hauff – a German DJ recommended to me by the Bman. The teens were at the Swingamajig listening to Tom of ESC DJ and life was good.  

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rave on mofos

I think this was my favourite Shambala yet.  I was calm throughout. I didn’t stress about seeing or not seeing any acts or joining any activities. I went with the flow and the flow was glittery, shiny, sunny and happy.  I joined in, I saw, I listened, I chilled, I had nana naps at camp (FYI the new blackout tent does not keep cool in the heat) and I survived the night time sleeping alone as my (bigger than me) babies were in a separate tent.


For the first time in 6 years I gained control of a hortisculpture pod and it was worth the wait.  I’ve already told my Pops he needs to get some of these over his pond at The Moss.

The younger teens even had a paddle to ease their trotters from the heat. They lost a hat but a kind man fished it out with a stick.

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As we sheltered from the sun in the shade of the Helter Skelter, Jade and I started giving the kids foot rides, which turned into seeing if we could still do it to each other like when we were kids.  When I finally finished laughing and got up off the grass to look around, I realised we appeared to have started a revolution. Well, not quite a revolution, but something… and it too was glorious.

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And just like that, all this was now a week ago… and I’ll have to wait another year.  I’m trying to keep the feeling alive by only drinking out of my reusable Shambala cup and not flushing the toilet or wearing shoes, but it’s not the same.

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Be more Shambala all year round people.  Keep Britain tidy. Don’t be a cunt. Eat less meat.  Show some sparkle. Be nice to one another.  Spend time with your family and don’t be afraid to be a bit silly…

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Shambala summed up in one photo I think

…and FFS pack up your tent and take it home you lazy dirty bastards. Love really is all you need (& maybe an education, some food and heating), but remember that not every police van you see is a Rave Unit and you can’t draw in chalk all the parked cars you see.

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So Shambala and Out for 2019.  Bring on the 20th anniversary for 2020 when hopefully Bman can finally join us (and please bring back the proper Lost Picture Show, it wasn’t the same this year).

Xx

Sh Sh Sh Shambalahhhhhh (Pt1)

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This time last week we were fizzing with anticipation about No.1 daughter’s GCSE results and our trip to Shambala the following day…

The girl done good!  11 GCSEs in total, lowest grades 2 Cs. The rest all Bs, As and A*.  She must not be mine or Bman’s.  A changeling from the maternity ward at LGI perhaps? 

🙂

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And what better way to celebrate than to go on some Adventures in Utopia at Kelmarsh Hall, Market Harborough at Shambala Festival.

I’m not actually sure where to start TBH?  Shambala is a festival of shiny happy people who make you feel like the country isn’t totally full of fucktards, skanks, unfortunates, spice tramps and bellends.  It’s colourful, glittery, sequinned, eclectic, very vegetarian (but not militantly vegan) and not the sort of place where tents get left behind and loos get set on fire.
Where else would you be asked by a young child on the way back to camp late at night, “Do you want to hear the most amazing sound in the world?”  (The answer of which should always be.. “Why yes, thank you, I sure do”) then the next thing you know, you are dangling an oven shelf from your ears on some string with your fingers in your ears, while child in question drags a wooden spoon across the slats of the shelf.  Suffice to say it was one of the most amazing sounds I have ever heard. Right there inside my brain like angels singing into my ear canal.  Try it! Get the shelves out of your oven right now and get dangling people!

 

This year we also took my youngest daughter’s pal Poppy – one of her friends who was hit by a car at Easter.  This made the family dynamic a little different, but I found it less stressful if I’m honest. Perhaps because the three of them went off together, they all got on well and were able to stay out without me, or head back to camp earlier than me. They helped when I was minding my young nieces.  They didn’t appear to fall out at all and Poppy didn’t bat an eyelid when we watched a ‘cunt walk’ fashion show, or me and my sister did stupid things like starting a traditional family pile-on in the Chai Wallah tent, or tried to embarrass them with crazy outfits.

 

 

I did my usual and went to town a bit on the first night.  I thought I was being quite restrained until I felt a bit knackered and fragile on Friday morning after a night bouncing around in the Swingamajig.  Sleeping bag?  Check! Toothbrush?  Check!  Glittery outfits? Check!  See the Electric Swing Circus?  Check!

I know this is me on these pictures but I have no recollection of them being taken.  I blame Thursday tequila amnesia. You will note my go-to facial expression that is more ‘Manic Loon’ than ‘Blue Steel’.

 

The sun played a blinding set for 4 days. The emergency waterproof trou stayed in the bag and the sun lotion was thoroughly used up. I sat on my sunglasses and fell on the tent.  We fashioned a tiny paddling pool for the folding washing up bowl and turned a blind eye to the naked people washing their bumholes under the water taps.  Boobs were akimbo and glittery. The Police Rave Unit were in full effect and gained a new fan in Poppy, who was also a big fan of the Roots Yard (because who isn’t?)

 

 

Had a special moment on Friday night taking the youth to see DJ Rap in the Kamikaze tent.  Getting my old skool rave back on with my kids.  Nice! 

Old ravers never die- they just creak when they two-step. 

🙂

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Whistle posse blow!

Later the band ‘Idles’ were on the main stage.  Allie and Poppy went to the front.  It got quite lairy so Rhona went in to stay with them.  So then I had 3 children to worry about instead of 2 in the moshiness at the front of what transpired to be a very shouty set. 

 

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As my sister and I stood to the side, looking confused and slightly concerned. At one point I thought I might have to go in, Poltergeist style, on a rope held by my sister, so I could rescue the girls and bring them out unscathed.

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We then got distracted, discussing in hushed tones whether or not the dreadlocked man laid on the grass near us wearing a sequinned catsuit, was in fact the Reverend Michael Alabama Jackson of ‘OMG It’s the Church’ fame.  My sister, more gins in than myself at this stage, sidled up to ask the question, “Scuse, me. Are you ssshhexy Jesus?” to which she was told, “No, but I am the Reverend Jackson”.

Result!  OMG and IN!  Turns out, the band were doing a secret set at the Madam Bayou stage on the Saturday night/Sunday morning.  This festival was just getting better and better!

After a wander around the Enchanted Woodlands – a magical Ewok village/Tree-Walk of strange sculptures and hidden gems, I had an early night to fortify myself for another hot day on Saturday and to finally sleep off the exertions of night before. 

 

 

Ciao for now Sinners.  More to come tomorrow. Xx

 

 

 

 

 

Thank you for being a friend

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Spent a pleasant weekend down south last weekend, visiting old school friends. Not as many as I would have hoped to meet, but the ones I did see made up for the lack of enthusiasm from the rest.

Balls to them.

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We caught up on who works where and with who. How our kids are. Where we’ve all been on holiday etc. We discussed Star Wars and crammed as much ‘plego’ as we could into a tub in Wilkinsons, using a plant pot to keep the lid in place.  There was loose threat of giving me a makeover as I scoured the shops for a hoodie (because I don’t have enough already).  I kyboshed that idea, fearing some kind of Pretty Woman/Sweetest Thing Movie Montage Scenario.  We had a decent dinner and had accidental espresso martinis and all got home in one piece, without hangovers the next day.

Bonus.

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Tomorrow is GCSE results day.  Eldest offspring is quietly optimistic. I am sure she will do fine, probably better than fine.  Certainly better than me and Bman did at that age.  She is going into school first thing to collect them and then meeting us at the train station, for tomorrow is also Shambala day.  4 days of what could go either way for me.  Could be a glitter laden cider fest of joy and dancing. Or… feeling morose and pondering the meaning of it all from within my sleeping bag, whilst muttering “Man I hate camping”.

I’ll let you know… Xx