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Utopian adventures are imminent

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In two weeks time the summer break will be over for me and I’ll be back at work – on a training day – but back in the game nonetheless. What a rip!


Only slightly longer than 5 weeks.  I had 3 months off sick, doing jigsaws, going for lunch at Morrisons with Bman and threatening (but not following through with it) to wallpaper the bedroom. (The rolls of carefully chosen paper are still under the bed).  
How any teacher who has not had the luxury of being mentally unhinged enough to get signed off for a full term, manages to chill out enough in such a scant amount of time is beyond me. Might I add, whilst also doing all their long-term planning and going into school to set up their classes. ¬†That shit doesn’t set itself up you know!

By the end of the week I will be ensconced in a field in Northamptonshire.  Glittery, probably tipsy, wellied-up or possibly barefoot if the weather is kind.

Yippie Kye Aye MoFos. It’s festival time. ¬†And my sister and posse are coming along for the ride this time.

Maybe this year I will actually follow up on my usual threat to fuck it all off and run away to join a circus troupe in Bristol.  How hard can it be to work those silks.


Note to self: Nobody wants to see a 45 year old overweight woman in a leotard rolling down from the rafters in a bedsheet.

If I make it out alive or without running away with the wraggle-taggle gypsies -O!  Natch a full review and pictorial evidence will follow.

Ciao Ciao Xx


Heather, fleas and comedy

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Just spent a most glorious extended weekend in the wilds of the beautiful North Yaaaarkshire Dales at our pals’ place. ¬†

There were birthdays, cider, G&Ts, long walks, a party with goats and some pigs, flea bites, irrelevant art installations in the middle of nowhere and a surprising amount of sun.

Seated man

Seated Man by Sean Henry at Castleton Rigg


We tried to educate the childerbeast with some classic comedy on YouTube and Netflix in the form of The Fast Show and Victoria Wood and completely baffled them with The Mighty Boosh.

“I’ve clinkers to riddle & pots to side”

“All around my… ARSE!”

“Eels up inside ya. Finding an entrance where they can”.

Int comedy BRILLIANT?

Now back to the reality of West Yorkshire & Sadford & having to do dull things like go into work to print out eleventy billion bits of paper on RE and set up 6 different folders.

In the meantime I had a lovely conversation yesterday with a Dutch man on customer services at Virgin mobile to discuss my duffed up mobile (that decided to just die on me for no reason).  Sadly it all escalated rather quickly when it became apparent that it needed returning for repair, which could take up to 10 days and no replacement handset or alternative phone would be provided.  Suffice to say, he is probably going to get the Employee of the Month award for patience in the face of adversity.  His Manager, a very polite American woman, (also with the patience of a saint) very much earned her salary when she took over the conversation.

It was one of those phonecalls which will be, without a shadow of a doubt, used for training purposes.

Then fuck me if my bastarding mobile didn’t decide to start working again this morning!

Int technology rubbish?!

Fuck it and go live in the hills I say!


Ciao Ciao Xx




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A local estate agent has enterprisingly come up with the following map. To assist any potential buyers make an informed decision, in light of our unsettled times with Trump’s stumpy fingers on the button.



 So either a visit to Whitby, or we might just be ok up at Farndale this weekend.  Bman is often in Carlisle with work, so he’d be ok on that shift.

Stock up kids. Or throw yourself closer to the blast zone. Whichever!

See you on the other side MoFos.



Post Holiday Boredom Disorder

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Post holiday blues.

Back to reality. ¬†Listening to the Bman’s usual mantra of, “Who the hell washed this up? Mr Magoo?” and “Why haven’t you eaten these potatoes?” orWhy did you eat those potatoes?” (delete as appropriate to whichever is the opposite to whatever you did). “Why are you doing that? “ ¬†(“Because I want to”) “Fine, do what you fucking want” (“I am. I did. But you told me I was wrong”)


My thrill this week has been to test drive my new Shark LiftAway vacuum cleaner. I ordered it before we went away and forgot about it.
¬† This is as good as it gets once you hit your mid forties – getting excited about new household electrical goods. ¬†To be fair, I do confess to being equally thrilled and horrified at how much dust and hair I emptied out of the dust cylinder once I’d finished the lounge rug.

Roberta Takes On A Dust Rhino



Forget sex toys – this is the new excitement

Another wanton purchase was a pair of Pipduck lace-up wellies, for Shambala, which arrived today. ¬†Imagine my unbridled joy that they’d arrived in time for this weekend’s trip to the Yorkshire Dales. ¬†Karma of course had other ideas. ¬†Stylish as they were, they are also clearly designed for the more slender of leg. ¬†They were far too snug against my bulbous athletic calves, so they’ll be going back. ¬†ūüė¶

That’ll teach me to try and be trendy. ¬†Should just stick to the bog standard, men’s fit Dunlops for a tenner and remember that I’m 45 and nobody gives a shit what I wear or what I look like anymore, because nobody’s looking. Not even my own husband.¬†


Now excuse me while I live a little, and run my new vac round once more – just for the hell of it, because that’s how I fucking roll!


Ciao MoFos Xx


Pictures courtesy of google images



Ola & Adios

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It’s pissing it down and I have a barrel load of washing that needs drying.
   Yup. Christ almighty! We must be back in the dreary old Blighty.

Since last Saturday’s blog post, I have spent a quality day with the Famalam at The Moss.


The prestigious egg & spoon race

Then managed to get myself and my two lazy girlies out of bed at ludicrous o’clock in the morning to get to the airport. ¬†By lunchtime Monday we were on a lounger by the pool, lathered in factor 30 and assuming one of the two possible positions for the next 7 days.


Position 1




Position 2

It was great to be back. ¬†I hadn’t flipped out on the plane. Thanks to mild meds and a new positive frame of mind and the bonus of knowing what was to be expected at the other end.

Slightly disappointed that since last year, the bar menu had changed, for what we considered to be a poorer selection and worse – no inflatables allowed in the pool!


The donut remained unchristened sadly :-(


No totty lifeguard this year either. (I can only assume he left in protest at the inflatables ban). ¬†Instead we had Bluto, AKA ‘JoySponge Redpants’ and his mate, Lieutenant Buzzkill. ¬†Last known work detail as lifeguards at Stalag Luft! ¬†Their mission – to stick vehemently to the 45minute rule before they confiscated any unattended towels on loungers. And also to reduce small children to tears by turfing them out of the big pool if they had anything remotely inflatable about their small person. Or a ball, or any kind of pool toy. In fact FFS don’t look as if you’re having fun or they’ll be out of their seat and sucking the joy right out of you!

We kept flouting the no diving ban on purpose the moment his back was turned.

My youngest was all set to stage an inflatable rebellion, Les Miserables style. Rallying the troops to take over the pool, building a barricade with their giant blow-up donus, bananas, crocodiles, planes and sharks etc. Demanding at least one day when inflatables were allowed.

Vive la revolution!

We spent our days, loafing and swimming and just eating when we were hungry, which wasn’t that often in the heat.¬†



If you need me, I’ll be at the bottom of the pool – just chillin’

We did occasionally wander about. Going out for meals or for walks along the coastal path to San Blas or on the rocky beach.

I lost my sunnies when I got wiped out by an incoming roller on the 3rd day.  I was lucky not to lose my bikini bottoms too!  Strong current kids.  Take care. The sea is a lady to be reckoned with!


I’m in there somewhere

We also decided to try the Submarine Safari after watching it return to the marina. ¬†“Look kids, it doesn’t even fully submerse. You’re just sat in the underbelly of it” I said confidently.



Altogether now…“In the town where I was born…”

Hmm. Yeah, about that….



It absolutely does fully submerse

What a strange experience that was.  Terrifying and thrilling in equal measure.


But now we’re back. In rainy England where my excitement for this week consists mostly of using my new vacuum cleaner. It is called a Shark though so an oceanic theme does at least still prevail.


Didn’t get any mosquito bites this year though so that’s a bonus!


Until next time dudes


Our next adventures will be in Utopia – by which I mean Shambala Festival, at the end of the month. It will be glittery. It will involve gin and music. I will be in wellies and hopefully, it won’t be a total mudbath.

Ciao Ciao Xx

We’re all (most of us) going on a summer holiday

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It’s Saturday.  Saturdays are weird if you’ve got nothing planned.  Today the highlight has been finally getting a door put on the bathroom. With thanks to the school caretaker and after a whole lot of farting about, ordering and re-ordering doors by the Bman (who apparently can’t measure properly).

I wandered up to Morridogs with the youngest childerbeast to purchase strawberries for the annual Famalam Sunday luncheon at The Moss tomorrow.  On the way we saw a convoy of about two dozen showy cars gunning down Dick Lane (I’m serious). Lambos, Rolls, Porsches, Ferraris.  It was either an Indian wedding party or the queue for WANKERFEST 2017.  Judging by the snazzy threads the drivers and passengers had on, I’m going with wedding.  We tried very hard to ignore their continuous attention seeking engine revving.  If I’ve taught my girls anything, it’s that that they should not be suckered in by a man in a flash car.  Don’t give them the satisfaction of noticing them.  Idiots on quads who are clearly not carrying out essential farming works though are a different matter.  It is perfectly acceptable to shout “QUAD WANKER” at them as they pass, whilst making with the universal matching sign language. In the words of Morrissey – “It happens a lot round here”.

The thrill seeking entertainment for the rest of Saturday will likely involve watching the rest of Catchphrase while yelling at the telly. Possibly having a couple of ciders and seeing if anyone is playing on text or whatsapp (I expect not. They are all likely having far more fun than me).

Next week though. A different story, for in the early hours of Monday (“We rise at dawn”in fact earlier than dawn! 3am for 3:30 if you will) for a weeks jolly to Tenerife.  Just me and my childerbeast.  A bit of sunshine and loafing by, and in, the pool.

Bring it on MoFos (but those mosquitos can fuck right off this year!)

Holiday countdown




Knock once for Yes & Twice for No

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The past two weekends I’ve been raking about in the dark til silly o’clock in the morning. Armed to the teeth with gadgets, in an attempt to converse with the dead. When I say ‘converse with the dead’, I mean, pratting about with my mate, sniggering like Beavis & Butthead & tutting at fakery & those more gullible than ourselves. Not that I am a non believer. More of a hopeful skeptic who needs to test all scientific reasoning first.

Our first adventure was at Fort Paull with Glen, the resident skeptic, from the ‘Most Haunted’ team.


I am in there somewhere – in a yellow coat


We liked Glen

In the supposedly haunted train carriage (which nobody seemed to know the history of) we almost had a stand up row with a lady who was determined to kill a moth.  “It deserves to die!” she screeched whilst removing her walking boot to try and squish it against the window.  “They’re not like butterflies inside you know” said her mate.  “A butterfly has innards and stuff when you squash one – but a moth is just dust. They’re just made of dust”.

Who the hell squashes a butterfly?

Who does that?

We managed to persuade her to leave the moth alone by employing stern teacher voices.

The venue was very interesting.  Comprising underground tunnels, a Beverley Bomber and various artillery gun thingumies  – and a shitload of moths, just for our lepidopterophobic friend.  An entertaining session on a ouija board ensued where I was seemingly contacted by someone called ‘Ash’. I denied any knowledge of knowing anyone of this name until Linda could tell by the look in my eye that I did.  Through stifled laughter I explained that the only Ash I knew was my eldest childerbeast’s dead dwarf hamster!  And that I doubted very much that he had gained the ability to spell in the afterlife, particularly as he only had one eye when he was alive!  One of the ladies around the board then suggested that perhaps the deceased had been cremated and this is why they were spelling out ‘Ash’ when asked their name.


Time for a wander and an explore.


Anybody there. Where? There on the stair


Creepy Wheelchair in the Victorian Hospital area

We did have a moment like that film “Left Behind” when the Rapture comes and claims the pious.  We got split up from our group in one of the tunnels and realised we were wandering about a deserted garrison on our own, calling out to the living this time rather than the dead.  “Hallooo is there anybody there?”  We were half expecting to find piles of clothes on the ground.
We were finally put out of our misery by the lovely Glen who appeared behind a laser-grid pen from inside the Beverley Bomber.


There’s those Lidl blow-up dolls again


Come aboard the lurve train


Note to self:  if you want to keep things on a serious note, it’s probably best not to say things like “Have we got any seamen with us?” and not expect at least a bit of an immature titter in the dark.

Making the most of our visit to Hull, we decided in the morning to visit the supposed haunted hostel in DeGrey Street, Hull where Bman used to live.  He didn’t live at the haunted property (although he says he wouldn’t go in the attic room out of fear). He lived 3 doors up.  I say lived.  I mean squatted.  ūüôā

DSC_0578 (1).JPG

Money for old rope anyone?

Am not convinced by the authenticity of this alleged haunted property.  It smacks to me of a decrepit old house someone can’t be arsed to renovate to a livable standard so a spooky back story has been invented.  I’ve told Bman we need to do this ourselves.  Bid on some old battered fixer-upper at auction and float some ideas out on the internet about spectral goings-on and then charge ghosthunters ¬£40 a head to wander around it in the dark with torches on a weekend.


Last Friday we opted out of the (not quite yet) end of term drunken teachers shenanigans in Leeds and went instead to Bradford City Hall.  A beautiful building in the middle of a big shithole.  


They don’t build them like they used to 




Raking about again in the dark. debunking charlatans and trying not to actually laugh out loud at Stuart the Medium as he rather camply said; “Ooh hello Colin. I’ve got a gentleman called Colin here” and “Push the table harder for the ladies Colin, they like it harder. get it up on two legs for them Colin rather than 4”. as well as, “Let’s have a bit of vibration Gerry (it had changed from Colin to Gerry by this time) the ladies like things that vibrate.”

Alright Stuart – that’s enough now!


Steve Irwin was here before the stingray got him

Not sure that Stuart liked it when we went rogue and wandered off around the old police cells by ourselves.  Not sure he could cope with us being seemingly unperturbed by the dark and the unknown, or the fact that we had our own tech.  Admittedly his tech was way funner (it’s a word) than ours:-  Sound amplifying headphones, weird rag dolls with light up eyes, interactive bears and night vision goggles.  We found ourselves especially hilarious at 1:45am when using an Ovulus speaking device and decided we must surely have contacted the spirit of Norman Collier.


Why hello there Norman

Am pretty sure Stuart was glad to be rid of us at 2am.  No comedy wanderings through the streets of Bradford, chasing lights this time – just straight home.

Until next time, at Armley Mills in October, where I may not be so blase about it because that place is creepy in the bloody day time, as I think I have said before.

Ciao MoFos (alive or dead)