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How to confuse an old bird

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So, on Friday I eventually got home from work after having to be rescued from a bus shelter on a council estate by my pal. Don’t ask! Fucking buses! Bloody 508 disappearing into a black hole somewhere between Leeds Headrow and my stop as usual.

So I got in, despondent and a bit hacked off, to find an Amazon parcel addressed to Kit Kit Kit.  Bemused I opened it to find this…


I double checked my Amazon account to be sure that I hadn’t made an accidental purchase whilst under the influence. But no. Not guilty on this occasion. (Because let’s face it, we all have at some stage!)

Was someone trying to tell me they thought I was on old witch? Who could it be?  A disgruntled ex pupil still bearing a grudge since Year 6? My husband trying to be funny? My kids sharing their true feelings about their mother? A friend sending me a gift of love or alternatively, an unpleasant prank? The mafia sending a message 2019 style instead of a horses head to the pillow? Could it have been Rosemary, the telephone operator?


Not being sure of its origins I kept it in the bag lest it be coated within with a toxic substance that might melt my face. Or some kind of ticking timebomb making my brain explode, like those Silver Shamrock pumpkin head masks from ‘Halloween 3’.




Yes. didn’t overthink it at all…


It turns out to have been a Halloween love token from a very good friend who had wanted to send me a severed head, but thought it might freak me out too much so sent the mask instead. 

What could my overactive imagination possibly have made of that do you think?

I don’t have a huge number of friends, but the ones I do have are all awesome.  Mostly as fucked up and weird as me and that’s why I love them. But awesome nonetheless.




Next weekend I’m attending another horror film convention in Manchester so expect a full review of our antics at trying to trap Alex Winter in a lift or pin Kiefer Sutherland up against a toilet door.


Noodles anyone?

Back in the game

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Last bus home on Tuesday from Leeds was uneventful in the end to say the least.  No pissed-up olds with wet underwear in their handbags cackling away or dancing in the aisles.  Disappointing really.

    I about coped with the crowds of other Micky Flanagan fans at the Leeds Arena, many of whom had clearly been propping up the bar in ‘Spoons since teatime.  Micky was very funny and I shall not be able to eat an iced Chelsea bun again without a smirk on my face.

Sadly, mingling with the masses seems to have brought on a cold.  Lovely.  Snotty tissues and lemsips all round.

I did manage to venture to Manc on Thursday for a surprise meet up with the Fam at Altrincham Markets at lunchtime.  Thought I ought to make the most of an opportunity to do that kind of thing while I am still off work, particularly as my time in the arena of the unwell is coming to an end.  Discussed with doctor on Friday and I will officially be fit for work on a phased return from the 5th June! I’ve had no further counselling but think I could maybe do with some more.  I need to arrange a new person to see though I think.  My usual lady lives out in the sticks so I’m limited to when Bman can drive me and hang around waiting. When I emailed her to say I couldn’t make it it the other week, I got no reply whatsoever and have heard nothing since.  I could be swinging from the ceiling or crumpled on the bathroom floor in a pile of my own chunder clutching an empty bottle of paracetamol for all she knows!

Today I’ve had a meeting with my boss to organise a phased return to work timetable.  It looks fair enough on paper but I guess only time will tell how it will work in reality.  Everyone at work is being very supportive – possibly out of fear that I’ll either flid out again, burst into tears or I’ll go postal & start taking potshots at people from the school roof like a proper loon.
But hey, at least I didn’t get my meds at the local chemist and realise that the pharmacist was a parent from school or anything… oh hang on!
Could’ve been worse I suppose.  I could’ve been collecting Methadone or genital wart cream or something rather than just ‘anxiety’ tablets.


My youngest is at a Wheatus gig tonight & then sleeping out at her friend’s – on a school night no less (because she’s just a teenage dirtbag baby).  Naturally I will be unable to sleep until I know she is home, so she better not forget to text me.

Ciao Tutti


Puzzles, Thrones & Going Out

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My rock and roll weekend consisted of finally firing up a jigsaw, sent to me at the start of my self-imposed house arrest, by a good friend.
It has been sat on the kitchen table for over a month.  

It didn’t take long to get into the zone once I started.  It was a ‘Carry On’ themed puzzle.  That bastion of British TV from the 60s & 70s, soon my brain was awash with thoughts like, “is this Hattie Jaques’ cheek?. **insert duck whistle or close-up of heaving cleavage here**

The cat is claiming it did the jigsaw alone. I helped.

Along with that, I had rediscovered Game of Thrones on Catch Up TV.  (You know you can’t just watch one episode). Pretty soon my restless mind was overloaded at bedtime with phrases and earworms like ‘House Baratheon’, ‘Unsullied’ & ‘You know nothing’ all interspersed with tiny images of dwarves and Sid James’ laughing face, stocking tops, Joan Simms bursting out of her nightie and Kenneth Williams doing that face that he did. Chuck the theme tune in on top of that and it has made for a few restless nights trying to get off to sleep. 

carry on girls

jon snow


sid james

Can’t help but think that if the Carry On team were still in their prime, that their take on GoT might be worth a watch.  The tits and booze are already a given.  I can just see Sid James and Bernard Breslaw dressed as whores for one reason or another in one of Littlefinger’s brothels.

I’d finished the jigsaw by Sunday night anyway and now have a new one to sit on the kitchen table until such time as I start it.  1970s sweets and chocolates this time – once again a gift from a very thoughtful friend.  

Tonight I am venturing out.  Not Out Out. But most definitely outside.  Into Leeds no less for a date with Micky Flanagan for some casual cunting and peep maintenance.  I am a bit nervous TBH.  It’s a huge venue and it means being in Leeds after tea and coming home on the last 508.

Wish me luck.

Ciao tutti Xx

Doesn’t quite count as Out let alone Out Out

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After the initial anger of Friday’s Close Encounter of the Third Kind came the inevitable plummet into unhappiness. Pootling about on the internet and checking, out of curiosity, what else was out there on the employment market did nothing to ease that sudden onset of malaise of the mind.
   £4K a year more than I earn now if I was a lollypop lady in Scotland! (Assume high salary includes some kind of thermal underwear & sou’wester allowance).

 £19K p.a. for a HLTA in Leeds at a CofE school?!  I bet they don’t get fingers jabbed in their faces there!

The only thing for it was to spend most of Saturday aimlessly wandering the streets under the guise of retail therapy (whilst actually just wanting to avoid any form of conversation or positive social interaction).  So I took myself off to Leeds for the day.  Alone.  People-watching.  Anything rather than spend another weekend in the house with childerbeast & Bman moaning about being bored or listening to them all shouting at each other on the Xbox or Minecraft, or shouting at them myself over some minor tidiness infraction.  Less me getting away from them, and more me distancing myself from them for the day to give them a break!

At Bradford Interchange I saw a man who had one foot much smaller than the other (or at least one shoe was way too large for him?)  Had he bought an odd pair by mistake or did he actually have a mis-sized pair of feet?  One a size 10 and the other a petite 5?

There was also a tiny girl of about 5ft 1″ who was wearing skyscraper heels.  She must have been miniscule without the killer stillies on.  She looked fabulous but I pitied her arches when she got home if she was planning on touring around the shops in those bad boys!  I had my leopard print flats on and my feet were aching something rotten by the time I got home.

There’s something pleasingly therapeutic about sitting on public transport, wired for sound, book in hand thinking about nothing but the tunes in my ears and the words infront of me (Cloud Atlas – David Mitchell).

Once in Leeds I set to with the task of drifting without purpose.  It’s been a while since I wandered the shops of Leeds for any length of time.  Primani inevitably loomed and I was drawn in on the promise of cheaply made bargain fashion items.  I got a pair of shorts & sandals for Thing 1 for our holiday to France.  I then spent over 20 minutes in the underwear dept in a fruitless attempt to find a bra in my size.  Proving then that my tits are in fact so shit that they can’t even be bothered to make any in my size.
  Mostly I was agog at the array, the plethora, if you will, of utter shite for sale.  The items seemed to cater mainly for the undersized, the under 18s, Thai Ladyboys, East European hookers & the mentally unhinged (or possibly all of the above).
I wanted to photograph some of the more ghastly pieces but feared apprehension from the store staff who may have thought I was a spy for a rival purveyor of

Atrocious apparel wars!

I found myself eventually in the new Trinity Centre.  A maze of pathways and bridges and stairs leading to shop after shop after shop.  It was busy but I noticed not many people had bags of shopping.  The recession however hasn’t seemed to curb the appetites or the pockets of the people of Leeds.  There were queues outside every single eaterie in that shopping centre.  Queuing to get into a place that just sells pretzels.  They were being handed menus in the line outside so they could make their choice the instant they eventually took a seat inside.  For someone who hardly ever ‘eats out’ because I’m too tightfisted to justify the expense (unless it’s some kind of special occasion), I found this sight quite nauseating.

My overall conclusion on the people-watching was that (a) I don’t wear nearly enough make-up compared with the majority but (b) thankfully I do know where to draw the line when it comes to following a fashion.  I’m not known for my sartorial elegance but I realised long ago that Daisy Duke shorts (even with tights underneath) can only be pulled off (as it were) by the under 22’s as streetwear.  Clubbers could get away with it for a couple of years longer.  (I once had favourite pair of black velvet hotpants myself but it was 1992 and I was slimmer).  If we start wearing festivalwear in the high street, where does that leave us during festival season?

Speaking of reliving our youth, my excitement was raised when I spotted a flyer in a window advertising that Grandmaster Flash was playing that very night at the Warehouse with ‘live breakdancers’ (as opposed to dead ones?). 
I was about to text Bman, get him to drop the childerbeast round at SB’s and get himself into townThen I as I had my phone out to take a photo to send him, I spotted that the poster was in fact a year old.


Real DJ’s use vinyl y’all.

Anyway I concluded my day release into the world beyond my bedroom by revisting my old nemesis.

The number of the beast was 508. 

How many hours have I spent what seems like a lifetime ago, sat on that bus watching the scenery, such as it is, trudge past as fast as the slow moving rush hour traffic would allow?  Too much time to think.  Introspection and retrospection are not your friends.  They taunt you.  Do not open the door to them.

It did not go unnoticed that on my initial journey into town (bus to Bradford Interchange then a train), that I had been on the move for almost an hour before the train I was on drove past where I live.

Travelling without moving. 

Continually going yet not actually getting any further away. 

Surely a metaphor right there!

I think what’s required here is an undignified night out (Out Out) with the kind of friends who could make the Hangover’s Wolfpack look like amateurs!  It’s been a long time since I get fucked up and woke up thinking “Crikey what happened there then?”

Anyone game?


In retrospect P2

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Name that Tune:    “I am the raindrop out at sea. I cause the ripples that become the crashing waves” – Reign, Ian Brown

Movie Quote of the Day:   “I’m not simply frivolous you know. I never ever want to be taken for granted” – Mrs Henderson Presents


A loud comment in the right direction and stamping ones feet a little sometimes DOES still work, even though I am clearly 38 years too old to be having hissy fits about not getting a party bag!

I was presented with this, by one of the dinner ladies this afternoon with an apologetically belated chorus of Happy Birthday


Don't mind if I do!

Don’t mind if I do!

Speaking out and making a big enough fuss clearly does pay… there’s a lot of it about!

Well, I’ve had my 2012 retrospective and now it’s January 8th, which can only mean one thing…

     Cue swirling mists and those wiggly dissolving images to depict a flashback (topical) about to begin.

Back in a much greener painted kitchen, when I was less haggard, much slimmer and people still used Myspace, on this day in 2006, I started up this blog. 

Back then (as only a few of you will recall) it was called ‘Diary of a Desperate Housewife’ – hence the reason you may see tags for DOADHW attached to my posts.  I wasn’t desperate, and was shortly due to return to work at a real job with a real wage (but crapper holidays) from my second maternity leave, so I wasn’t technically a housewife either.  I had recently become engrossed in the TV show though and was blogging under that name long before any other imitators of the same name!

Since then it has also been temporarily (while I cyber hid for a while) called ‘All Hail the Jinna’ and now here we are with ‘Divine secrets….’ – a title magpied from one of my favourite books.



I wanted to use the internet to express myself and use it as a cathartic vent. I didn’t care if anyone read it (and still don’t) .  Some people did.   Some of them still do and have been along for the ride for many a year (god help them).  Some of them lived thousands of miles away but are now so much closer although alas, not on the old 508 route!  Ironically the very number of the beast, tagged in many a post, that attracted my blog to their attention all the way down under!

I have all those early entries on back up and wanted to reproduce the first ever entry for you here. However, technology is such that it was all backed up on floppy disk!  A-Drive?  What is this archaic portal of which you speak?  A-Drive? Eh?

I remember it going something along the lines of; comparing myself to someone from Eastenders who isn’t on it anymore.  I forget who, but it wasn’t anybody glam. 

I tried not to bang on about my kids as I didn’t want to be known as a Mummy Blog.  Mostly it was Alan Bennett-esque observations about Morrisons and shopping in Bradford and people who needed to use more conditioner on their hair….. Shit! I’m amazed I wasn’t closed down.  Still, there’s duller shit than that out there on the etheral plains of the cyber highway – trust me!

I believe in free speech and although I have offended some people and some friends have left the wolf pack (as it were). So be it.  I’m not apologising for saying what I think.  Don’t like it?  Sod off & go play on The Sims or whatever!

This is my modern day equivalent of a teenage diary, like the ones that came with a crappy little key and you got for christmas and spent all year blathering bollocks into and were shamed into shredding at the end of the year in case anyone found it. (I had several years worth of these, which I collected into a carrier bag when I was 14 and hid in a ditch behind the park on Knebworth Court, Bishop’s Stortford.)  Go and look for it if you like. Knock yourself out.  The park is long gone.  They built little houses on every last scrap of land up there years ago!

I may talk bollocks on here too just like I did in my diaries.  Just like the early 90’s letters (some of which DO still exist  – thankyou Wigster!)


Sometimes I’m told, I can be quite funny.  FYI, contrary to common consensus, I don’t always say what I think, because also contrary to outward appearances, sometimes I don’t want to upset people or hurt their feelings.  For everything that is said, there’s a whole lot more whirling around in my head that I don’t put down.  If all else fails it’s an excuse for me to inflict movie quotes and song lyrics on you and indulge in my passion for 1950’s pin up art.



I’ve only ever deleted one post.  Way back in 2006.  But I was a newbie at this and I very much regret deleting it a whole lot more than what was written, which was of course, brilliant (if slightly raw).


So, read.  Don’t read.  Whatevs.

But to quote another movie line…  “Hey!  See you in the next life!”

"Want to know how it all ends?"

“Want to know how it all ends?”

 Ciao for now Xx

Images courtesy of google image



I just re-read this and want to make it perfectly clear that this is not a  suicide note people!

Courses & how LCC employ zombies to do the cleaning

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 Been on 2 courses this week.  Only one of which I found particularly useful and that’s because it will eventually provide me  with HLTA status.  Yay!

Pity it took 2 hours to get there via pubic (typo intended) transport.  Quicker in fact to get to Manchester City Centre from where I live.

My old nemesis and I, the 508 – the number of the beast – we met again at 0735 on Thursday morning and will do again for the next few Thursdays leading up to Christmas.   When that bad boy has finished with me, I get spat out onto the Headrow after a riveting 60 minute journey through every last nook and cranny between here and Kirskstall and then have to get on another bus!

Big Boo hiss to the Reception lady at the centre I was headed to, who advised me to get the bus outside the Corn Exchange when she should have said to catch it at the bus stop opposite the Corn Exchange!  10 valuable minutes wasted there!  Eventually got on the correct bus and had that sickening feeling in my belly that I was going to be late on my first day and that I had absolutely no fricking idea where I was going. 

Winding through unfamiliar places made me feel like back in the old Backpacker days in Australia and New Zealand, wandering free, new places, exciting times, (OK so it was a Leeds No. 13 to Gledhow, but it’s the closest I’ll get these days).

So I arrived fashionably late by 10 minutes, shuffling in at the back hoping nobody would notice. 

At breaktime I noticed that my biscuit tasted rather odd and when I checked my phone for messages I realised that my emergency tube of Volterol for my backpain, had leaked in my bag, all over my phone and I had some on my fingers.  At least neither my phone, fingers or tongue  will be in any pain for a day or two.  FFS.  Dumbarse!

Journey home was nackering and just as long as on the way there, but this time I had the added cacophony of sound accompanying me, of dozens of teenage school girls,  Jeebus! the noise they make!.  Even with the old C3PO on full whack I couldn’t drown them out.

 Proper tired when I got home.

The saving grace of today’s course was that I didn’t have to go on my own and that I was with my bezzy mate, who as you can see was well up for a bit of practical P.E.

Am not playing!

I’m jumping ahead of myself though.  This pic was taken after we finally arrived.  Nothing more terrifying than a bit of a jolly round scenic Wortley to liven you up of a morning.  Or is there? 

Pulled up to park the car at the wrong centre.  Decided to park there anyway and walk up the road as very little parking space available where we were headed.  Seemed like a good idea until two extras from Shaun of the Dead Vs League of Gentlemen, clad in tabards,  lurched across the carpark at us, brandishing feather dusters.   One had the loping gait of the undead and a face like Quasimodo’s Nan and the other had that white, dried, foam mouthed appearance of a rabid animal or someone who forgot to check the mirror after they brushed their teeth (my money’s on the former). 

I fended her off with my water bottle hoping that her hydrophobia would startle them both away.    The sole reason I don’t have photographic evidence of these pair was that I was backing away at the time and trying to make discreet eye signals to my pal that she unlock the car pronto and we get the fuck outta dodge!

I’m sure they are lovely ladies and someone’s Mum/Nan/sister, yadayadayada, but fuck me,  were they scary!!

Ay up love. D’you know where you’re going?

My free breakfast, when we finally got to the right place,  consisted of a burnt crumpet and a thimble of coffee, with no break before lunch, despite it saying there was one on the itinerary.  This was never going to end well.

We zoned out as soon as we heard that there was to be team games and salsa (and not the sort that comes with a bowl of Doritos).  We felt like clawing at the fire exits for escape but we were trapped!

They made us do stuff!  On a P.E. course – Who’d have thought it?  My mate’s face at almost everything that was said today was an absolute picture. A picture in fact that would mostly be captioned with the words “What the frigging fuck?!”

Arse Up!

Up Yours!

Fortunately there is no photographic evidence of me rolling around on the floor with a bunch of total strangers, many of whom were men; all in a line like pencils trying to get a hula hoop to roll across our prone bodies.  Holy jesus!  WTF?  I had some personal space issues with that exercise let me tell you.

When faced with discussing the key features of the course and should any further equipment be required, I did mutter something along the lines of “perhaps a dictionary”. 

Dictionary anyone?

Not the most constructive use of the day but worth it for the laughs.  A lot of which were when a certain person’s Salsa dancing all went a bit Gavlar and Smithy once the arms were introduced:

Crackin! (up)

It wasn’t long after this that my pal and I were split into different groups – funnily enough…

Then sod me! when we were finally paroled, armed with our well-earned resources (which if they don’t get used, are going to get shoved unceremoniously up someone’s jacksie) if Dolly Duster of the Undead didn’t lurch out of the Library on our way out!

She’d followed me!

I practically sprinted out to the carpark before she caught up with me!

I’ll be needing a drink this weekend you can be sure of it, starting right now I think.