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Tag Archives: Bradford

Vive le weekend

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Movie Quote of the Day:  “Take the blue pill – the story ends, you wake up in your bed and believe whatever you want to believe. You take the red pill – you stay in Wonderland and I show you how deep the rabbit-hole goes.” – The Matrix

In explanation of the staffroom being over-run with BT Openreach engineers earlier this week, I was informed that “There was some kind of loop going on with the interface”. 

“I fucking knew it!” I yelled. “I knew we were in the bloody Matrix!”

matrix

Not sure which one of us on the faculty is Neo but I know that when it comes to the choice of the red or the blue pill, I’m grabbing both and necking those fuckers dry.

By lunchtime we seemed to be plugged back in and ‘normal’ service was resumed. I have mixed feelings about that.

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Today I had to venture into Sadford town. Realised as I was about to set off that my MP3 had been on all night in my coat pocket. No battery.  I had to go into town with full aural capacity.

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There was a girl on the bus who had eyelashes so pumped and fake that I wondered if she would be able to press the bell just by blinking.  She didn’t, but if I had been her I would totally have tried.

Obviously Sadford does have its attractions.  Namely, Brown Muff. Not a euphemism or a nod to the female Asian community, but of course the legendary firm of solicitors long since gone.  The sign remains however as a testament to puerile humour and the immature.  Natch, I have a photo.

I was on a mission for a few essentials and a few treats for B’s birthday.  Usual epic fail trying to get a decent bra.  Either I have deformed breasts (SHIT TITS!) or everyone in Sadford is the same cup size.  Not a bra I liked to be found in the right size. Not unless it was some old lady number or something hideous made from easy-wipe faux PVC.  Neither being over 80, or a sex worker in a Sheffield brothel, I gave it up as a bad job.  It’s almost Valentines Day y’all. The stores need to up their game.
I eventually found some jeans I liked that weren’t ‘super skinny high-waist’. Am more of a boot cut girl myself. (which does NOT make me retard thank you very much Bman!)
 Needed a new pair, as my other two don’t need the zip undoing to pull ’em down because I lost 7kg! (Unlike you Mr B!)


**High Five Yourself MoFo**

Obvs I will still wear my favourite raggatus pair with the shredded bottoms from trailing along the floor because I also shrunk 2inches in the last 10 years.  I do like a raggy jean, but thought I ought to at least have a smarter pair.

Sadford was its usual sad self.  I trailed up to the market.  It smelled like all indoor markets the UK over – of raw meat, giros and desperation.  I was using it as a shortcut to Morries but then discovered that Morries is long gone.  The irony of a busker playing Pink Floyd’s, ‘Wish You Were Here’ from  the piss-stinking doorway of yet another empty store, was almost too much to bear.

Could be anywhere. Any mall. Any town. Any Matrix.

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I almost lost the will to live in the queue in Wilkinsons.  I watched a woman loudly berate her husband in Primark for paying too much attention to the underwear section even though he was just following her around.  “What are you looking at?”  Why are you staring?” Peck Peck Peck as she smacked him on the arm.

After trailing to Tesco Express, Sainsbury Metro, B&M, Poundland & M&S, I began to wonder who I had to fuck to get a packet of burger baps.  Turned out to be Gregg.  Good old Gregg.

Managed to even make it home without hearing the magic words “Hya Miss Brewer!”

So a mostly successful mission but am not in any hurry to repeat the experience.

Right now am on 3rd episode of ‘Lost’ on a catch up revisit with my old friends Jack & Sawyer with a G&T for company.

Whatever you fuckers are up to this Saturday night. Enjoy!

Ciao Tutti Xx

My mangey pussy & 20 seconds to comply

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Had to take the eldest cat to the vets after work on Friday. because she is suffering from a bad case of scabby skin.
I was all of a sweat lather as I had to get home sharpish after Mexican Mayhem Harvest afternoon at work. (I hadn’t even cooked, I just turned up with my class, chatted up the natives and took photos for the website – but I was still hot & bothered). I had to walk with the cat in the pet carrier because Bman was at the garage picking up the car after its MOT.  I felt like Clark Griswold in Christmas Vacation when his aunt gives him a cat wrapped up in a box. She was jiggling about a lot and it was cumbersome to carry.  It got worse when I realized half-way down Wild Grove that she’d done a shit and was trying to get out of the box to escape it.  It bloody stank!

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Slightly embarrassing taking her into the surgery and apologizing for the stench.  The nurse was fine of course, probably quite used to being elbow deep in animal shite for a living.  Seemingly she is ok.  Just an allergy to a flea bite so needed a bit of a flea treatment. (The cat not the nurse).  I don’t really understand though how last time we took Alan Lickman to the vet he had 2 sprays of flea treatment and we got stiffed ¬£13.  This time, we got 2 vials of treatment – one for each cat and it cost ¬£6.94!  Bloody Herr Klopek, who dealt with us last time must’ve seen us coming!

Yesterday I decided to go into Bradford and make a start on some ‘C-word’ shopping with my eldest offspring. I was hoping she’d photograph me against a background of comedy characters and Royston Vasey types to help me illustrate this blog.  To be honest though, it seemed fairly normal. No drunken old folk falling over after a fight outside the pub and losing their false teeth in the gutter (this actually did happen once). We did see this guy in the Broadway Centre. though.

We watched for a couple of minutes but then I got the fear as I remembered how this shit went down in ‘Robocop’.  I feared for a “You have 20 seconds to comply” moment and steered my daughter out of harms way into Paperchase, where we could “coo” &  “aww” at overpriced novelty useless shiz and ludicrously priced paperclips and rubbers.

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Have these people never seen this movie?

 

 Made it home without hearing a “Hya Miss” from anyone and settled down for an evening listening to thousands of pounds going up in smoke outside for Bonfire Night. We opted to stay in and watch the classic 80’s movie, ‘Heathers’ (my girls needed educating that shows like ‘Pretty Little Liars’ and ‘Mean Girls’ didn’t just invent themselves!)  The alternative would have been to attend the pikey bonfire party at the local pub.  The last time we went to that, my girl was almost hit by a rogue banger and a trip to the loo inside the pub was like being an extra in ‘Shameless’.  I vowed then that I would never go again.  Needless to say it sounded like New Years Eve in Beirut until well after midnight.

Today I have mostly done fuck all except a bit of ironing and made tea.  Right now I am squirming at the brilliant new David Attenborough programme, ‘Planet Earth 2’.  I defy you not to squeal or cringe a little at the marine lizard dudes trying to escape the racing snakes. Get it watched on iplayer if you missed it.  That’s a thing y’all – lizards that swim and fucking racing snakes!  Holy shit!

Mother nature is terrifying and beautiful – a cruel mistress indeed.

Ciao Xx

Venturing into the threshold of the damned. (AKA shopping in town.)

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Yesterday I ventured into the wretched hive of scum and villainy that is, not, in fact Mos Eisley, but Bradford. 

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Here is a photo I took at the Bus Interchange.

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OK, I lied, but it was close.

It was wolf fleece central and I overheard the toilet cleaning dude telling someone it was his last shift before he relocated to work in Keighley, “which is much nicer”.

Fighting talk indeed.

I people-watched as I made my purchases in an array of pound shops.  The phrase ‘Welcome to Royston Vasey’ sprang to mind.

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Brush your teeth kids & pay attention in school. Otherwise you too will end up toothless and gaunt, sucking on a roll-up. Tits deep in weird looking offspring and shopping at the type of frozen food store that sells mushy peas in batter, while your equally unfortunate looking spouse/life-partner/lover of the week, lurches along beside you looking like he is fit for his next fix of Methadone.*

Painting a pleasant enough picture for you?


*Am describing what I saw, not myself….just thought I best clarify that.

Forget expensive moisturisers, spa treatments and aspiring to be one of the Real Housewives of wherever. Just go into Bradford on any given Saturday and look around.  You will feel like a million dollars.

I found a store I’d not seen before which sold handmade soaps and bath bombs and, randomly, Ouija boards!  What could go wrong with the youth of Bradford tinkering with the afterlife? Although I imagine it could be difficult to tell the undead from the living.  It’s a thin line round here my friend.

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In my trancelike state listening to my MP3 I accidentally wandered into the Model’s Own make-up stall in the new Broadway Shopping Centre.  Before I knew what was happening, I appeared to have agreed to buy an anti-redness primer (which is lovely to be fair). The foetus in hair extensions serving me seemed completely mortified when I said I didn’t usually wear foundation – just a tinted moisturizer. I thought she was going to have me arrested by the cosmetic police.
I’d like to think she was so convinced that my flawless complexion must’ve been the result of hours of careful blending, but more likely she was thinking,
“If I were you love, I’d put a bit more effort into that old mush”.

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The primer was the only thing she got out of me though.  I stopped her in her tracks when she started waffling about contouring.  Fuck that!  I’d end up looking like a 1980’s Athena poster or Skeletor or something.  I’ll leave all that business to the teens.  Frankly these days I’m happy if I haven’t got a muzzy or any hair growing out of my mole.  After all those early years of having a spotty clock or a horrifically dry chin, I’m amazed I actually have any face left.

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Is this too subtle?

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How you doin?

 

 

I survived anyway and made it home in time for tea (which was not mushy peas in batter, before you ask.)

Got a training day at work tomorrow. Think I’ll give my new Dia de los Meurtos dress an airing.  Skeletons are for life, not just for Halloween you know.

Vaya con dios amigos Xx

YEAH! So there!

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This wasn’t the Bman – but it could easily have been and is probably one of¬†his colleagues.¬†train-conductor-attacked-by-passenger-travel-rail-attack

Be nice to the ticket dude please, buy a ticket, sit the fuck down and stop being an asshole!  This is the kind of fuckwittage they have to deal with on a daily basis!    http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-leeds-19545383

Also, this could easily be your child.  schools-plans-to-build-prison-block

Sort ’em out at home and they might not have to build places like this.¬†

People like me certainly don’t get paid enough to deal with the kind of shit that warrants this kind of thing having to be implemented but we sure as hell are expected to put up with it.¬† Why?¬† Why the hell should we?

¬†If you don’t feel it’s right to treat¬†kids like crims, scuffers¬†and scumbags¬†then they shouldn’t behave like crims, scuffers¬†and scumbags.¬†

End of!

Right!¬† Rant over, time for a cuppa and maybe a bit of stress relief.¬† (Now how on earth could I do that I wonder?)¬† ūüôā

Who said romance was dead?

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I had a date night with the Bman on Monday on our trip to the cinema to watch ‘Prometheus’.

These are all genuine photos taken on my phone on our romantic walk home from the Cineworld in Bradford.

Sadly I hadn’t thought to begin documenting my salubrious surroundings until I had already passed through the subway bearing the enticing marker pen legend “Nice Brown Cock – 07430 662589”¬† *

*I made up the number here as I forgot to make a note of it as I was too busy holding my nose inside my jacket to disguise the pungent smell of stale manpiss.

These are blurry as I was jogging slightly because Bman made me hurry-up as he feared the crackheads within may  have been disturbed by the flash.

I expected Eminem to appear at any time singing the theme to ‘8 Mile’.

 

                               

Wonder where I could get a new mattress? 

Oh fab, here’s one!

 

 

 

 

 

All the while we discussed the burning questions that ‘Prometheus’ had presented to us:-¬† Who engineered the Engineers?¬† Why did that red haired chick suddenly become French when she hadn’t been as a child?¬† Why did that AI dude spike that fit dude with that black stuff?¬† etc etc.

I also tried in vain for the umpteenth time (it is a word, check the dictionary)¬† to explain to Bman why it’s different for a girl/woman to walk home alone down seedy snickets and dodgy alleys.¬† No amount of mischief could occur to an unchaperoned female in such a place (as many can testify!)

¬†I can report that I made it home unmolested. So what with that, and the gargantuan fart that he did¬†when there was only 6 people in the cinema resulting in a¬†somewhat resounding echo; I’m not sure that he would have got a second date!

Derelict places and not even so much as a tit feel or a snog!¬† I wish I’d written down that number from the subway now, maybe I’d have had more joy! :-p

Xx

 

 

Pride of Britain

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What lovely children on BBC news this morning live from Lands End and the start of the Olympic Torch relay.  Polite, well-groomed and well spoken, waxing lyrical on how much they were looking forward to the Olympics.  It gave me hope for future generations.

However…. I await the Torch’s visit to Bradford with a certain amount of trepidation as I suspect the calibre of interviewees¬†may have deteriorated somewhat by the time it gets this far North.¬† I have visions of it being borne aloft from the heady heights of a pony & trap pulled by a mangy¬†Shetland pony by an illiterate 12-year-old with a rat’s tail¬†& his trou¬†stuffed into his socks. Never to be seen again as he has cashed in the torch at the local scrappers yard.

Or maybe that’s only if the torch comes anywhere near my neck of the woods…..

I’ll take your finest tinsel wig please Sir!

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Reference my post yesterday about a bald killer on the loose:-

https://doadhw.wordpress.com/2012/04/27/how-to-spot-a-killer/

This gem caught my eye on AOL news when I was checking to so see what was happening on this story:–

“On Saturday, Lang said sightings of Allen in the Cleveland and North Yorkshire Police areas were continuing to be reported as well as potential sightings in Leeds on Thursday and Friday.

The detective said it was possible that Allen was trying to change his appearance by growing his hair.”

Might I suggest that he may have popped over to the Boro to head down the Joke Shop for a comedy wig, which would be a damn sight quicker way of altering his appearance than waiting for his barnet to grow!  The news story also said there may have been possible sightings in the Harehills area of Leeds.  I draw your attention once more to what I said about people answering his description in the Lord Rosebury pub Рagain, difficult to spot the right one!

On the topic of comedy barnets¬†& people who look like serial killers. I went into Sadford Town today for my sins.¬† It was a dire and uninspiring retail experience¬† if I’m honest and I have begged Bman to stop me at all costs if I ever forget how it made me feel today and try and do it again ever in the future.

Here is a fairly accurate transcript of a conversation I overheard on the bus between 2 women, one of whom looked like this guy off the Muppets, (oh the irony!) and her child (aged approx 5), on the bus on the way home:-

she didn't have a hat or a sax, or blue hair but otherwise.....

 

“Hey I used to live there in them flats”¬†¬†(points to tennement looking building)

“Why did you mum?”

“Cos I wanted me own place like – in facts that’s where I met your dad”

“What? my daddy?”

“No not him I mean your REAL dad”

“Oh him. He int my real dad”

“Yeah he is! You’re talking shit now you are”

“You tried to stab him dint yer mum?”

“Yeah but only cos he tried to stab me first”

“Why did he?”

“Cos he’s a fucking prick!”

“Did you stab him in the head mum?”

“Yup but he dint die…. pity!”

“Did you get in trouble?”

“Yeah you know I did. Remember? but it’s all sorted now”

“You should’ve¬†stabbed him harder mum, through his head then he’d be dead”

“Aye!”

(changes subject and starts to talk to friend about child’s ability at school)

“He’s a good lad at school int yer?”

“Yeah I am. 40 and 40 is 80”

“See, he’s a clever lad my son and I’ve told him if anyone hits him he’s to smack em back and I’ll give him a fiver for everyone he hits”

(Mate interjects)¬† “But now he’s gonna go and punch people on purpose to get money off you”

“Nah! I’ve only told him that if anyone smacks him first”

(Child looks deep in thought as idea begins to form in his head)

~~~

Here’s an insight into what idea is forming in my head:-

I need Bman to sort it and arrange it all though and that way I am relinquished of all responsibility and absolved of all blame.