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Tag Archives: Bradford

There is a Swansea

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In an effort to not get cabin fever on the second of my weekly days off and to allow the Bman to actually have his day off at home without anyone in the house – I went into Leeds today so he could yell at his laptop in peace.

Not Bradford.

Leeds.

Bright lights. Big City y’all! Oh yeah!

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Going out! and not wearing trackydaks or swimmers!

En route, I spotted this locksmith’s van which deserves some snaps. Well done that man with a van.

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 a carriage of no horse drawn – belching Satan’s black wind into our clean and local air

I survived the bus journey into town despite having forgotten my mp3 or any headphones so I could listen to music on my phone.  Took a while to eventually tune out the incessant babble of the teenage girls on the bus with their,”yeah but no but yeah but no. but he said right, and OMG I’m so small I can’t even fit in a size 6 in New Look yeah because I think I must be like a 4 or summink”

Oh boohoo adorable youthful thin person. That must be terrible.

😦

Once in Leeds I ended up drifting into Forbidden Planet to check out their Funko pop Vinyl sale and was ridiculously thrilled to see the legendary Pixie the Adventure Puss in the actual flesh fur! What a beautifully coloured tortoise-shell she is too, and I commented such to her ‘dad’.
I can’t see our Alan Lickman going for it with the old getting walked on a harness though.

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No!

Or Pepper, who would probably collapse with fright like Mr Jelly when a leaf fell on his head.  She almost imploded with fear the time we drove her 2 streets away in the car to the cattery the other year when we went to Orlando.

On a whim, when realising how close I was to Pieminister, I went in to treat myself to a lone lunch.  ‘Chooks Away’ (vegan chicken) pie with mash, gravy and minted mushy peas with a pot of tea.
Read my book and watched the world go by along Boar Lane as I thought to myself,
 “This is awesome. I’m a very lucky girl” and I felt rather blessed. Such a northern bird – easily satisfied with a pie.

😀

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Yes of course I took a photo of my lunch. #pieminister

I was about to head home when my attention was grabbed by a window display of Halloween themed items in HomeSense.  Showing what I consider as remarkable restraint, I resisted the urge to make purchase of a £15 large snowglobe of stacked glittery pumpkins which, when wound up, played the tune of, “Ding Dong the witch is dead”.  Surely some sort of award should be presented to me for such willpower (possibly a £15 musical pumpkin snowglobe from HomeSense perhaps?)

🙂

Naturally I may have to go back into Leeds after Halloween to see if it has been reduced, because of course that kind of quality item isn’t just for Halloween y’all. Get that shit on display all year round!

Ciao Ciao Bitches 

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come sisters, we fly!

 

Sunday at Casa Brew

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While I was having a lazy Sunday watching ‘Beauty and the Beast’  –  this is me, explaining to Bman right at the end of the movie, where all the people suddenly appeared from in the castle.

Me: They were all the staff at the castle, cursed and turned into household objects.

Him: Why?

Me: The beast, when he was a prince wasn’t very nice to a passing witch or something and she turned him into a beast along with the staff into objects.

Him:  Why? It wasn’t their fault that that he was an arse

Me: Don’t get at me about it. I didn’t write the story

Him: So who is this guy?

Me: He was the clock

Him:  This fella?

Me: The candlestick

Him:  Wait! Where did that little kid come from?

Me:  * sigh* he was the chipped cup

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For foooks saaaake!

We have also had conversations this week about Simon Mayo being in the ‘Fast Show’ (he meant Simon Day) and how he should be the new presenter of a revamped ‘Runaround’ for 2020, what with Mike Reid being dead now and all.

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…and my particular favourite:-

Him:  So the Wicker Man is on next week

Me:  Which version?

Him: Well it’s not the one with Sylvester Stallone in it.

Me: What?

Him: Sylvester Stallone.

Me You mean Nicholas Cage

Him: Do I?  Ah yes. well not that one

Me: So the original one

Him: Aye, the one with Rustie Lee in it.

Me:  (choking slightly on my drink) FFS Brew, you mean Christopher Lee.

Him: (laughs) Oh yeah.

Me:  Give me strength. Rustie fucking Lee? What when she made a jambalaya for the people of Summerisle?  Fooks saaake!

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I forgot to mention on my last post – when I googled memes about Bradford, I found this one.  Made me chuckle, And those in the know will know and they will laugh too. “erm, no I don’t think so”

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Hope you have a great week next week MoFos – and to all the witches, pagans and wiccans out there, hope you’ve had a productive Mabon this weekend.

Ciao Ciao Xx

 

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. 

😦

 

Bit of a swingamajig and an apology

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I feel I ought to apologise to the ‘Electric Swing Circus’. They seem like nice people but tonight they dared to “step a little bit closer to the edge”.


My daughter has talked about them for a few years now. I saw them for the first time last year at Boomtown Fair in the absolute pissing rain. Then a couple of times at Shambala Festival and then again this year when the girls wanted me to take them to Swingamajig
festival that they organise and run in Birmingham.  

I recently saw on Instagram that amongst their recent tour dates, they were scheduled to play locally as part of the ‘Bradford festival’ and a free gig to boot.  Not sure how they managed to pull that short straw whilst the equally cool ‘Dutty Moonshine Band’ are a few miles up the road at Beatherder.
Anyway, never one to look a free gift gig horse in the mouth, off we went after I’d got in from work.

 

 

We felt that we should go and support them, as I feared for what sights might greet them in the craphole that is Sadford Town on a Saturday night. Centenary Square on a stage in front of Wetherspoons, where most locals’ idea of music is gangster wannabees in balaclavas, riding gypsy horse carts through streets, singing “I don’t fink so” on Youtube.

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The bands’ instagram feed has showed them in lovely places around Europe with bouncy crowds of smiley happy hipster people.  I feel like they may have looked out over the motley bunch tonight and mistakenly thought that it was a homeless spice tramp convention, or like that scene in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest when they sneak hookers in for a party.

 

A man in a Pink Floyd tee shirt who looked as if he had been drinking all week cheered them on as they warmed up, applauding the sound check and shouting for one more tune.       A small man in a running vest, also the worse for wear for something and reeking of Lynx, sidled up to me at the barrier at the front and tried to rub himself against me.  I booty-bounced him away from me and the Childerbeast and gave him a look that strongly said, “Back the hell away from me and my kids”

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I love that you’re here… but why?

The childerbeast kept their dancing and jumping to a minimum with the self-consciousness of being teenagers who are out locally and might see a teacher or someone from school.  My friend, asked if they were the type of band who did the old selfie with themselves and the crowd at the end of the gig.  I said, “Sometimes, but I suspect, not tonight”  They probably didn’t want to alarm their parents into thinking their musical offspring were playing gigs at a jobseekers festival for the pharmaceutically addicted and criminally insane, on the island of Doctor Moreau.

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Good to see the security fully on top of the old unattended backpack situation at the barrier right infront of the stage aswell. 

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See it. Say it. Sort it.

I was convinced I’d seen a one-armed security person at one point – quite possibly due to a previous unattended bag scenario.

Poor crowd turnout aside – the band played a cracking gig, giving it 110% regardless. Not quite the glamorous speakeasy of Shambala Festival or a gazebo in my back garden (the offer still stands guys).  If they’ve any sense they will be already on site at Beatherder sharing tequila shots with Dutty Moonshine.  I was astounded they did an encore TBH. If it had been me I would have been back in the van quick smart, shouting “Leave the equipment, we’ll get more. Just put your foot down and get the hell out of dodge FFS!”

So well done ESC.  I look forward to no doubt seeing you again at Shambala next month.  I’ll get Rhona to bring her mini pan pipes so she can play along.  That’s providing we’re still alive living round here, where the rules of the road do not apply. We all had to run to cross the road when heading back to the car park. The green man was still lit when some tosser flew down the road through the lights at about 80mph, not even attempting to slow down!

Asshole!

Welcome to Bradford. You may never leave. (Although you really should!)

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Lines and Lines and Lines and Lines

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Gone are the days of half term days out with the offspring involving trips to Eureka or Blackpool Pleasure Beach.  Today we followed blue dot and I took youngest child to Hadfield, the home of Royston Vasey, for a right good treat ja? While the eldest child went to Pride in Bradford with her mates. Pride for the gays, lesbians, Bi’s, Tri’s, girls who like guys who like guys who like girls; Tails, no-tails, Cis, trans, pans, flans, mans, puns, bums, femmes, fams and wingdings symbols like when Prince changed his name presumably – because there’s fuck all else to be proud of about Bradford! There’s not a day goes by when I don’t mentally beat myself up about the fact that we live here and brought our children up here.  #sorrykids

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“The room is starting to spin cos of the gayness” – Talledega Nights

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stay safe out there kids

The Hadfield thing was purely because the youngest daughter shares my affinity for dark and twisted humour whilst the elder one ‘doesn’t get it’.
I’d promised her some time ago that I would take her to where League of Gentlemen was filmed.  Half-term seemed as good a time as ever. It would get us both out of the house for a start and she could earn maximum points for spending time with her mama.  I’m not sure what she expected, as there’s not a lot there, which I think was rather the point when it was chosen as the location.  No Babs Cabs merry-go-round or Dr Chinnery petting zoo. But there is a good pub and a very local shop with possibly not quite official merch for sale.
It has a very friendly local shopkeeper who doesn’t mind you touching the precious things or flicking through his fannymesto of photographs.  He also told us an amusing tale of the local old folk storming the barricades at the Post Office one time during filming.  How very rude dear. Restricting access to the Post Office on pension day. How very dare you!

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Literally me

We ate our lunch on a bench, had a drink in the pub, almost bought a side table in the shape of an elephant but thought the better of it, then headed back into Manchester without any sign of a nose bleed of being kidnapped by Papa Lazarou.

Trains on the way to and back from Manchester were awash with leopard print and prosecco. The Spice Girls were in town for their comeback (yet again) tour at the Etihad.  The women we saw were fairly lively already by 3pm and the gig didn’t start until 7:30pm.  My advice to any train guards working the late shift tonight would be: lock yourself in the back cab and turn off the lights.  It’s gonna be messy out there come 11pm. These birds won’t look quite as glamorous 7 hours and 3 bottles of fizz later when their spangled wedge heels are in their hand and their hair extensions hanging off as they piss in a drain behind a Greggs singing ‘Spice Up Your Life’ while their pals live stream that shit on Facebook.

😦

🙂

You know it girls!

In fairness, I somehow managed to get shit (my own no less) on my jeans this morning and I don’t even drink prosecco! Luckily oldest fruit of my loins spotted it before I left the house. Fooooooooks Saaaaaake! No idea how I managed that. Such a classy chick.

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 Ciao Ciao local MoFos.

Alles Klar?

XX

Just a typical Saturday

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So I overslept this morning and woke up to the sound of a chupacabra crawling about in the wall cavity above the front door.

It may have been a bird. Or a mouse, or a rat.  Either way, my daughter heard it too so I know it wasn’t me going nuts (again).  It’s gone quiet since so it’s either escaped, died, or is lying in wait to peck or claw its way out in the early hours and suck our blood.

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Meanwhile I’ve been into Sadford two days running and now feel like I need therapy. And by therapy, I mean beer.

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You’ll never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy than …. Bradford

 

The bus journey there on my Mum mission to exchange the too small short shorts was very much full of people like this.

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Ashtray’s a girl’s name

I hoped I didn’t blend in.

I also prayed none of them were going to buy short shorts.

Primarda was like a scene from Dante’s Inferno. Clammy, hot, swarming with lost souls, eyes aglaze as they bustled through the racks of tat on their individual quests for sweatshop made, hotwash intolerant garments of ill-advised fashion.

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Abandon hope all ye who enter here (especially on a Saturday)

I then went to the pool to observe some lessons to gain some teaching tips. This would have been a very helpful exercise had I gone on the right day.  It was meant to be next weekend FFS!  What a dingus. My mentor wasn’t even there – she’s in London.

😦

So then I set off for home and had to run for the bus. Not a pretty sight for anyone witness to such a thing. Even more so when it wasn’t even my bastarding bus. 

 

In my head I looked like this.

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The reality was probably closer to this.

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Particularly whilst wearing an oversized men’s ‘Wyld Stallyns’ * vest with one boob peeping out of the sleeve. (I was at least wearing a bra).

So I’ll leave you with that image.,,

You’re welcome!

Xx

 

*Bill & Ted fans – next Saturday is ‘Speak like Bill & Ted Day’.  Sixty-Nine Dudes!

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in need of something but not sure what

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I was meant to be heading south this weekend to visit some pals and have a curry and some drinks.  There was even loose talk of getting hold of a “hot tug” and sailing it to Harlow, but I don’t think that came off.  Maybe next time, when it’s warmer.

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Stock Photo from Google Images

 

As it goes, I haven’t gone.  I started with the snots when I got back from Chester over the Easter Weekend, which was awesome by the way (the Easter weekend in Chester – not the snots).
I also had a clairsentient gut feeling that I should stay home & leave it til another time.  I’ve learned it’s best to pay attention to these things, so here I am.  At home. In the rain. Not ever wanting to see another Easter Egg in a long time and feeling rather cross at why people can’t just commit to a long planned arrangement or answer a text from time to time in a civil, unfacetious fashion.

I know everyone has their own little lives and shit but FFS!

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So what have I done instead?

    Ventured to Sadford Town to return a pair of silver Doc Martens.  Not mine I hasten to add.  Seems my eldest wants to go for the Gary Gliiter, Glam Rock aesthetic for her birthday this year.  It’s not ’til June, but these boots she wanted were on offer in Foot Asylum. 

Ordered them. They arrived.  But are neither the right size not the requisite shade of silver apparently.

FML!

Had one lovely spring-like day on Wednesday so ordered some new garden furniture.  Natch it has pissed down ever since.  Furniture currently clogging up the hallway and kitchen ready to be assembled.

Still no washing machine because the fucker needs yet more parts.  Bastarding Hotpoint.  ‘Oh we’ll replace your washer if it can’t be repaired’.  Repair dude just laughed at us and said that almost never happens.  It can be repaired….eventually….when he comes back for a third time on Wednesday.  That’ll be over 3 weeks since it initially broke.  I’m running out of neighbours to impose upon to wash my smalls, my mediums and my larges!

So anyway, the trip into Sadford, usually a cure-all when you’ve got the blues, did not help in any way whatsoever. It was like accidentally stumbling through the set of the Walking Dead.  Normally this type of thing makes me feel less inferior. Better about myself.  It could be worse etc.  Yesterday it just made me feel sad and full of gloom that I was doomed to die here. That I had failed as a mother and I had condemmed my offspring to a miserable life in a miserable place.

“Hello is that the Emergency St John’s Wort & Evening Primrose Oil hotline? I’d like to place an order please!”

The best part of the day was when I smuggled some tech into an allegedly haunted shop in my handbag, for a mini lone investigation, Sadly the recorder failed. Coinicidence? Supernatural? Or operator ineptitude?  You decide.  Either way, it had a most oppressive atmos (but did sell the most amazing bits, bobs, tat and oddments).  There was a man in there talking to the shopkeeper about his imaginary friends as she listened unjudgementally and with sound advice.   I may have found my spiritual home.

🙂

Boyes store however lit up my K2 device like a gay pride parade.  Too many mobiles on in the vicinity? Or it being so full of the elderly and infirm that the veil between this life and the next is ridiculously thin – the afterlife almost tangible through the smell of wee, lavender bags and the scent of decrepitude?  Again – you decide.

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from Google Images

 

I didn’t want to be one of those olds.  Complaining in the cafe upstairs in Boyes that the tomato soup was sold out, or that so and so hadn’t turned up today and did they think she might have died over the weekend.
But I also felt like I was skidding quickly towards being one of those people (but with less friends).

This time last year we were in Orlando, yet it doesn’t seem two minutes since we were only just planning it and it was 18 months away!

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Poss my fave pic from last year’s hol

 

Life is short.  Do stuff.  Fun stuff.  Sometimes wrong stuff.  But stuff. Be kind.  Be nice. Go out. Have fun. Make some memories to keep you warm when you’re waiting for death in a cafe above Boyes in Bradford and the soup is off and your mate hasn’t turned up.

 

                                         Gravitating towards the water, as per

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