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It’s ok to just be ok

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So.  I’ve had enough of trying to accommodate some people.  If people want to be my friend and be a good friend, then they know where I am. They know how to contact me.  I’m pretty much done with always being the one to make first contact.  People are busy I know. People have their own lives.  Sure. But it doesn’t take a moment to spare someone a thought and drop them a text, whatsapp or messenger or whatever.

With that in mind I know a couple of heads I need to reconnect with and I shall go old school and telephone them at the weekend.


Meanwhile, I’ll go to school.  Teach my lessons as per my plans.  Change them as and when I need to.  I’ll mark, I’ll come home. I’ll go to bed. Sleep the sleep of the just – possibly unjustly. Or maybe I’ll lay awake pondering about life, the universe and everything. 

I’ll teach my swim classes on Thursdays and Fridays and hope nobody drowns and the parents don’t think I’m a complete fucktard.  If they rebook the classes then I’ll know I’m doing alright.  If they take their business elsewhere and I end up being asked to leave then I’ll know it’s not for me.

And that’s fine.  It’ll be what it’ll be.


I’ll cook and clean and keep house and parent as best I can and that’s the way it will go week after week.

Every now and then I’ll do something different. Like on Saturday when I went to Chester and took my mum and sister out for afternoon tea for Mothers’ Day.



Once in a while the planets will align and the gods and goddesses of all that is mysterious and magical will smile upon me and, after a pointless tiff with Bman,  he will apologise like this.

And that’s okay (although the spelling and grammar is NOT).
It’s okay to just be okay.




When worlds collide

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I was about to order 7 pallets of tinned peaches and bottled water until I realised that chances are…. I am unlikely to be around to see how this pans out.


I will however (hopefully) be around for next week’s Transit of Venus for which I will be early rising to watch at 5am.  Cue a decent quip from the Bman along the lines of, “When was I going to wake up early to see the rising of his penis across Uranus?”  Nice!


Jubolympic shizzle Part 1 seemed to go OK today.  Part 2 on Sunday, with less coconuts and more people I actually like 🙂  Also broken up for 12 days, which hasn’t come soon enough for me.  I’ve more than had enough of this week!

BTW. 10 years ago I got married (officially) to the Bmiester at Bradford Registry office – photos courtesy of the photo booth at the Interchange – the 3 week precursor to the big ‘Hello!’ magazine number in a marquee at The Moss.(Insert any gag you like here about serving less time for murder etc etc)


PS: 10 year wedding anniversary gift is tin.  Tin?  WTF?  Tin?  I await my can of beans with eager anticipation.


Fashion hell & advancing decrepitude

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Went to Manchester yesterday to visit my sister and niece, and to make use of the excellent retail facilities in the city centre.  This was for the purposes of looking for jubilympic themed dresses for my girls and myself, for my Jubilympic Afternoon Tea Party in June.

Easy enough to get something suitably patriotic without being too ‘Geri Halliwell’ for the childerbeast, but I couldn’t find anything that I liked (or more to the point, that I liked, which suited me and didn’t emphasise the blimpishness).

I even ventured into Primarni and have to say, that even by Primarni standards this season’s collection appears to both suck and blow! 

WTF?   It was a showcase of utter shite! 

I like to fondle garments on rails (like you do ladies – feign to deny it) to see how they feel, but I was afraid to do so. With such a varied array of different man-made fibres packed in such close proximity to one another I was afraid of starting a fire!

A neon stretch chiffon vest with a giant image of a wild animal on the front?  No.  I’m good thanks!  I like parrots, as you well know, but harem pants decorated with hundreds of toucans?  I think I’ll pass. 

I couldn’t help but stop and take a picture of this rack of faux silk bomber jackets which wouldn’t have looked out of place somewhere in a  1971 charity shop.

I’ll take one in each design please

So, empty-handed we headed to my sister’s for a chillaxed afternoon with sibs and RenesmeeFloGaGaella before setting off back on the tram to get the train home a few hours later. 

I wrote yesterday of my comfort at seeing on TV some young hopefuls in Lands End, and I was comforted again on the tram when a couple of young girls took pity on a lady, many years their senior, and offered her their seat.  Lovely.  You don’t see that as much as you should these days.  The old dear in question gracefully but thankfully declined their kind offer on the grounds that the old gimmer was ME!

The happiness at seeing that not all teenagers are moronic fuckwits, tinged with sadness that I’d hit a new low in my self-esteem. I am now officially old enough for girls to offer to give up their seat for me.  (Or worse, because they thought I was pregnant).

Forget the new tea party frock I’ll just wrap a tartan rug around my knees & hit the sherry…

Today I  have researched orthopedic mattresses online. Thus far, not found any which are coffin-shaped or made from tartan picnic rugs.


Mmmmm cakes…

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Afternoon tea at The Lowry Hotel, Manchester today for Mother’s Day times.  Heady sugar overload followed by chocolate based giftage from Sister-in-Law who works for Mars.   I may be avoiding my usual Sunday morning weigh-in tomorrow.

Girly Tea Times

   My two Cookie Monsters loved it!

Sugar Rush Ahoy!

Big love to sibs for paying for mine as a Mother’s Day treat.   Xx  Mwuah!

PS.  new foxy boots = old f**ked feet!