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Signs of the times

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I went to the post office again in the pissing rain today after my hour at work. As I was getting told off by the counter dude for using an old jiffy bag (has he never heard of recycling?) I spotted a sign that filled me with despair. It read:-

        “Post Office Counters request that patrons are properly dressed.

                   Anyone in their nightwear will be refused service.”

😟

I didn’t despair because I was in my nightwear I hasten to add. Rather that such clarification was necessary at all.

No giro cashing if you’re in your onesie or your wincyette, you bone-idle sloppy git!

What did make me feel somewhat better, was then seeing another sign advising that energy drinks would not be sold to under 16s. – a personal bugbear of mine. Ghastly things! Should be banned.


This time tomorrow the UK could have brand new leadership. I am avoiding the news tonight as I can’t bear anymore talk about it.  And yes, I did vote. 

We shall see how that pans out.

Ciao Tutti

Xx

Back in the game

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Today was the start of my phased return to work.  Just an hour a day for this week and then building up eventually to full days.

Baby steps.

Had to have a return to work risk assessment meeting today with some form-filling. Presumably to clarify that I wasn’t going to sit in the book corner wearing a tin foil hat and babbling about voices like the Son of Sam killer.

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I came home and did a mammoth work out on my step and my other gizmo. Health Health Health.
    I’m not bothered so much about being slim and svelte. I’d rather be firmed up and strong.  Like Sarah Connor in Terminator 2. \

She rocks!

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Sarah_Connor

Always best to be prepared for the artificial intelligence uprising. (It’ll start with those Alexa, Echo gizmos, you mark my words!)  Or a zombie invasion. Whichever… Although I went to the post office this afternoon and it’s quite possible that the zombie apocalypse has already begun and we just haven’t noticed yet.  The irony of the song ‘Across 110th Street’ by Bobby Womack, on my MP3 was not lost on me as I was stood in the queue with the toothless and unkempt of the neighbourhood.  (FYI Bman, ‘Across 110th Street’ is nothing to do with, “that film about Father Christmas” – I think you’ll find that is ‘Miracle on 34th Street’ – FFS!)

Easy to be this positive on day one though.  I may go to pieces again before the week’s out.

Ciao Tutti
Xx

 

Black to basics

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Just got back from mine and the kids’ annual pilgrimage to Blackpool. Mostly to enjoy the thrills of the rickety rides at the Pleasure Beach and in part to remind ourselves that whatever life throws at us, or how low we may sometimes feel – it could be worse – we could live in Blackpool.

24 hours is about as much as we can take of good old Blackers. I might be on meds at the moment but I’m not completely fucking mental!  How anyone can actually afford to go for a week, even if they wanted to, is beyond me. It surely must be cheaper to go to Spain.
The Bman has to go there for work occasionally. He hates it with a passion and cannot understand why we go. To be fair, the punters at the Pleasure Beach aren’t usually as unfortunate as the ones you might encounter around the bars and clubs and tatt shops.  On this visit I don’t think we actually saw one drunken person, which surely must be a first!  I did see a rather large lady in some kind of knee length MuMu shouting at her kids for running through the fountains (as I was running through the fountains myself). Other than that we escaped unscathed without my girls being groomed into a sex trafficking ring (I’m too old for that kind of caper these days), so, all good.
I thought I’d broken my neck on the Grand National at one point (best wooden rollercoaster ever – just don’t look too closely at the loose nuts and bolts on the way round.) I also think that even for my relatively mediocre sized boobs, a sports bra might be the way forward next time! I even went in the maze and didn’t freak out (I am a bit scared of mazes).  I rode the UK’s only actual haunted ghost train but the scariest apparition I saw was this, when I took a selfie.

No sign of ‘Clopper’ the ghost of the ghost train

It was a fun 24 hours and will hopefully keep me in a good mood for returning to work on Monday. Only an hour a week for the first week of my phased return because as I said before, I am not completely fucking mental. I need to build up gently to a full return. We shall see how that pans out.  I do need to go back though. There’s only so many hours of Paranormal Witness that a girl can watch. I need to start interacting with the living (even if a lot of them annoy the very bones of me).  I was also starting to seriously consider an alternative career.  By career, I mean I wondered what the wage was for driving that little train round Bradford Broadway Shopping Centre. I though perhaps if I was driving it I might not actually get run over by the fucker every time I go into town!  (My own fault in fairness for not watching where I am going).

So wish me luck for next week and in the meantime, do enjoy some pictorial memories of our Blackers jolly.

My beautiful girls

It’s a parrot poncho. Don’t judge me

Goodbye and adieu

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On Saturday I went to Reighton, near Scarborough, on an exceedingly busy train full of York race-goers, to visit my oldest friend before she emigrates to Australia.

Our parents were (and still are) friends, so I have always known her.  For years now she has lived in London so we’ve only ever really hooked up on joint visits back to Scarborough or when I have managed to drag myself darn sarf.

Tomorrow she and her youngest child are leaving for a new life in the antipodes. For a brand new golden gaytime if you will.  (Well worth the 23 hour journey to Oz just to be able to ask the ice cream man for a Golden Gaytime if I’m honest).

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One of those rare friends that you don’t always see. That you don’t speak to or text all the time, but when you meet up it’s like you only saw each other an hour ago.  (If you have any of those friends, love them, cherish them and keep that shit up y’all!)

🙂

Because of her, I have an eclectic taste in music – she introduced me to rock in the 80’s whilst she also used to sing along with me to hip hop and house music.
We still laugh about buying ‘
brown drops’ in the local shop. About fighting over the velvet red riding hood cloak at nursery school (I bought her one as a leaving gift which I have insisted she wears on the plane all the way to Melbourne – I need pictures as evidence BTW.)   The sole kitten of one of her cats is our cat Pepper – fed by her every 2 hours when the mother was still at the vets recovering from an emergency C-section.

It was her who was with me – doubled up and almost weeing with laughter – when the Bman slipped on dogshit during a water fight in the street and slid underneath a parked car in our teens.  The very thought of it still makes me chuckle.
RaRa skirts and connies, pineapple hairdo’s, wearing socks with kitten heel shoes, sneaking peeks at her dad’s 1970s porn mag collection at Hampton Road (that’s right Mother). Making lists on sleepovers of which boys we liked and sharing a love of Matt Dillon, Keifer Sutherland and the 2-Coreys and films like ‘
The Outsiders’.

Ever grateful for her skinny arms being able to slide up inside the fag machine in the arcade on Scarborough seafront to steal me a pack of Regal diddies and ever grateful for being the most glamorous bridesmeaid ever, and I am still sorry for not asking you in the first place (I just thought you wouldn’t want to get all Shirley Girlied up).

I am so proud of her for saving up for the past 2 years to fulfill her dream of moving to Oz with her man.  Good luck Maverick Matchstick Mekon and look after yourself and enjoy your new adventures.  

Now I just need to save up to come out and annoy you.

….

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STAY GOLD PONYBOY!

Doing it for the kids

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My eldest daughter had friends stay over last night. They raked around in the woods til about 9pm then came back for pizza in the garden before I left them to it.

I ventured downstairs this morning to make a coffee. I caught a glimpse of Doritos wrappers, empty pop bottles and half eaten unidentifiable things amongst the splayed arms and legs and blankets. (How long before it’s empty beer cans or WKD bottles I wonder?)

😟

It was a bloody tip! 

And it was wonderful! 

Those girls had fun and were now sleeping it off under my protection.  Safe

They do our heads in. They make a mess. Make a fuss over trivial things and think they know better than us (sometimes they do TBH). But what would we be without them?

💜

😀

💜

Don’t let the fuckers win 

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Bigger, longer, harder hugs for my girls yesterday when they came in from school.

😦

Seemingly both knew children & some teachers from school who went to the concert in Manchester. It’s a bit too close to home for them.  For me. 

This ghastly thing happened in a town we know and love extremely well, at a venue we have been to many times, among an all too relevant demographic.  

My eldest (almost 14) was especially upset.  We had a very open and frank discussion about it all in the garden. I think you have to.    

Back in my childhood when the threat of IRA bombs seemed fairly standard, at least the only news you got about it was from the teatime news or the tabloids.  Now we are inundated in our beds on our phones. If not from news, then Twitter, Snapchat etc. Unkind memes circulating within hours. Ugly details. TMI.

The hashtag #missinginmanchester is a heartbreaker.  I don’t know what I would do if this was my children.  The thought of them afraid and panicked and lost or worse. I would lose my mind for sure. I know it.  What would my girls do if the parent(s) who came to pick them up, were killed? 

Horrific. And for what? In the name of religion? For stupidity? For a radical view?

All we can do is carry on but be vigilant. Same as before. Educate your children to be aware of their surroundings. To look up from their tech from time to time and check their exits. To have common sense. But we can’t not let them do things or go anywhere. 

If dumb cunts are going to be dumb cunts and decide to kill themselves and take innocents with them, then there’s not really any way we can know when or where, or stop them if they’re determined.  Scary. Sad. But true.   Our loved ones could just as easily be hurt on the school run or in the park, or even at home.

Stay safe y’all. 

Love. Be loved. Be kind. Laugh. Enjoy life. Thrive. 

Don’t let hate win.

This article says a lot. – http://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/entry/manchester-bombing-mancunians-defiance-in-the-face-of-terror_uk_5923f5b2e4b034684b0f6874

Be kind. Always.

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…she didn’t forget to text me.  So I slept well.

😀


And then I woke up to this.

22 dead in Manchester suicide attack http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-manchester-40010124

And then I had a panic attack and sobbed and sobbed for a long time.

😟

I don’t really know what else to say today.