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That time I got bummed down an alley in front of Steve Pemberton

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Firstborn had tickets for a gig at Chapel in Leeds on Saturday night. Me and ghostbusting mate offered to drop her and her pal off.  Website said doors open at 7pm, however, the ticket said 7:30pm.  We had one of those Escape Rooms booked for 7:15pm in Armley, so had to leave them both outside the venue. #parenting dilemmas

Abandoning two 15-year-old girls outside a club in the hub of studentville in Leeds on a Saturday during Freshers’ Week.  What could possibly go wrong here?

Coughing up £20 for soft drinks & merch I reluctantly left them there with strict instructions to ring me or her dad if it got shady or anything went tits up.

Never done an Escape Room before. Wasn’t sure what to expect so I just followed Linda’s lead as she’s done quite a few. It was a zombie apocalypse theme.  Lots of maths/algebra type problems to solve.  We did ok but spent too long flicking switches unnecessarily so we failed to get out within the 60 minutes.

Next it was time for the main event of the evening.  Stalking our comedy heroes. 
Having joked about going to the stage door at the end of the League of Gentlemen Live in Manchester, but not actually bothering. We then discovered that they did do stage door autograph signings, so decided to lurk about at the stage door at Leeds Arena where they were playing on Saturday.

And lurk about we did. Having chatted up one of the security birds outside, who could have been straight outta Vasey herself TBH, we were assured that they would be coming out but the show wasn’t due to finish until later than we thought.  Had a bit of another parenting dilemma, as we had to go and collect the offspring from the gig.  The fates were on our side though, the gods of stalking favoured us because the daughter’s gig was also running late. 

I had felt rather like a massive geek, hanging about to bother a bunch of professional actors. I also questioned the security of the situation.  We could have been anyone hanging over the railings with a handbag full of semtex and bulldog clips and a grudge or extremist religious view.

However once the genuine audience had left the building and some of them also made their way to the stage door, I felt slightly less of a spod.  Not compared to the Annie Wilkes posse behind us – “I’m your number 1 fan Mister Man!”  #slightlyscary

Quite a few fans had gathered at this stage but we were not going to relinquish our spot even if it meant getting dry-humped by a stranger.

There was a comedy ‘life imitating art’ moment with Ted Robbins when he came out and only about 2 people could remember his name. Bless him.


It’s a shit business

I learned that I look rather too manic in the picture with Steve Pemberton, who is, as we speak, probably filing a restraining order.  I discovered that Mark Gatiss and I look as though we may well be related (Cousin Gus is that you?) and that Reece Shearsmith is only my height. 



To everyone’s joy, Jeremy Dyson was there too.  We also, much to our amazement and amusement, learned that the anecdote that chap at the ASSAP seminar the other week told us about him helping break a naked Reece free from a locked hotel room, wasn’t a tall tale at all – that shit actually happened!  We know this because Linda asked the man himself and he confirmed it was true!  Blow me! I’m sorry I ever doubted you CJ. Not a crazy Alan Partridge type fan after all.  (And for the record, I passed on the message about you having some books for him).

Our brief brush with brilliance over and most definitely worth the wait (yup… I am a geek) we hustled uptown to collect the girls who were by now waiting outside the venue at 10:45 on a Saturday night in Leeds!   Finding them unscathed, sober, safe and un-molested we headed to the car and set off home after a weird but entertaining evening.

Not sure what we are going to get up to next although we are still hoping to urban explore (i.e. break into) the abandoned Camelot theme park.

Think the older I get in body, the more immature I get in mind and the more I want to do stupid stuff.

Live. Love, Laugh.






Anybody got a bockle oran joooose?

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Last weekend of the holidays gone.

Mate and I attended a Seriously Strange conference in Manchester on Saturday. Essentially a series of lectures on everything from people who think they’re werewolves and vampires; a talk about haunted Chester, and alternative approaches to how people deal with bereavement. There was also a showing of the new Borley Rectory (boily rectum) film.
We met a man who claimed to have been a friend of Reece Shearsmith of the League of Gentlemen. He told a tale of rescuing him from a hotel room with a missing door handle.  He said if we tweeted Reece to say we were with him then we’d get backstage.  We did. But funnily enough got no reply.  Possibly because said guy may have been a Number One Fan. Annie Wilkes style or like that chap on Alan Partridge.

So that was weird.

Also, accidentally wearing matching Shirley Ghostman quote tee shirts to the convention and then realizing at lunch that you were strolling down Canal Street in them.


Mate covered hers up while I brazened it out (but quickened my step) for fear that the locals might think we were some kind of ‘Pray the Gay Away’, religious zealots and push us into the canal.


We ducked out of the conference early to get across Manc to our hotel so we could get changed and get a bite to eat before meeting my Fam at the arena for the ‘League of Gentlemen Live’.  Cue me flapping over pal’s salad not arriving in time as I worried we’d be late to meet my Pops and I’d be excluded from the circle of trust – like on ‘Meet the Fockers’.

As it goes we all arrived at the same time.   Been what seems a long time waiting for this show. I bought the tickets for the fam for Christmas and birthdays.  It didn’t disappoint.  My cheeks ached from laughing from start to finish. And we seemed to be sitting 2 seats away from Paul Young of ‘Wherever I lay my hat’ fame.  You decide from this google pic Vs our surreptitious snapshot, taken while pretending to take a pic of my sister.


We were also inches away from a resurrected Pauline as she ran down the aisle high fiving people whilst shouting “MORNING JOBSEEKERS!”. We are also all now wives of Papa Lazarou because we raised our left hands in the air (this forms a legally binding nuptial contract apparently).


I am your wife now Dave. I promise I won’t pee in your sink

Great night all round.


Where’s Pops?


The next day we sought salvation in Manchester Cathedral following the bee trail and hoping to see the spectre of the supposed ‘fanny’ who haunts the knave. Because who doesn’t want a haunted fanny right?

We happened across a photo shoot and like the mature 40something-year-olds we are, kept trying to photobomb the pictures by lurking in the background and walking past.  I saw the photographer deleting quite a few snaps on his camera. I suspect that they may have looked a bit like this.


Photoshop credits to Allie B


Photoshop credits to Allie B


On the way home we went to look at Strangeways (as you do) and got a bit overexcited when we saw the visitor’s centre – shouting “GIFT SHOP!” and immediately seeking to park the car. But it quickly dawned on us that it was where the prison visitors have to check in and stuff their phones up their arse and hide ketamine in their hair etc and not somewhere we could stock up on HMP bookmarks and tea towels for Christmas gifts.




And now it’s time to return to work this week but not as we know it.


No policy reading, break time duty, value chanting, behaviour pyramid building, time out chair negotiating for me.  (No decent wages, pension or sickness pay either – but hey ho!)

Alles Clar. It’ll be reet. Arbeit macht frei and all that.

It’s fine. Everything’s fine.





If you go down in the woods today…

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… be sure to jump into a giant vagina on top of 6 strangers, whilst yelling “Wassup Cunts!” and then proceed to be hugged to death while your daughter films that shit on your phone from outside the labia. 


“I close my eyes – pull back the curtains”

Yes people.  It could only be the Shambala Festival right?

In the words of the lovely Yolandii Visser of Die Antwoord,  “We’re gonna have nice time kids” and of Ninja, “Jump motherfucker jump!”

And in the words of my young niecelings at 9am in the morning, “This is the way we drink the gin, drink the gin, drink the gin”.  That may or may not have happened. There was some confusion over the water bottles, reminiscent of the tequila incident in The Lost Picture Show of 2015.  #parentinggoals

What can I say about Shambala?  Where to start?  It was, as ever, glittery, with an emphasis on the eco glitter.
I could eat everything there because all the food stalls were veggie or vegan. And before the carnivores turn up their noses and mock – they need to try a shakshuka breakfast from the Poco Cafe or a vegan steak and ale pie with mash and minted peas from the Young Vegans – a rival for Pieminister there – and I know a good pie when I eat one. I’m a Northern monkey remember.


Some sort of North African poached egg deal.  Best. Breakfast. Ever.



“Beef pie falls into my miyiyiyind” – (rare B-side by the Bucketheads)

But contrary to what Bman thinks – we don’t just go to these things “to spend £17 on macca cheese”  There was dancing to be done. Bouncing about to be had, skanking to do, a bit of the old kinetic two-stepping.  Faces to paint, parades to infiltrate while dressed as bees. Ice creams to be bought, Enchanted Woods to explore, mojitos to self-source, vaginas to jump into, Strumpets with Crumpets to yell excitedly at in the dark. (Sorry if I scared you ladies but I was thrilled you were there and then never went back to make a purchase!) There were acid heads to freak out with my Star Wars Disney ears. More alcohol to imbibe. Police Rave Units to chase. Offspring to embarrass.

After being told off by my youngest on Saturday morning, as we waited for an inordinate length of time for a fried egg bap, (bring back the Red Bus!) for “reminding her of all the people she hates at school” by being too loud and embarrassing apparently, I did point out that alcohol was a factor and I was not going to apologize for having fun,  as it was a fairly rare experience for a woman of my age.  I was not going to let her disapproval kill the joy of the great night I’d had before she went to bed, and then continued to have when I went back out again.  (Back off Childliners – she was not left alone at night in the tent, she was with my sister.)  However, of course, that is exactly what happened and Saturday afternoon I went back to the tent for a lie-down and a word with myself, and to hide.  After a brief disco snooze I chose to say Fuck it! I was going to enjoy myself regardless.
I have decided Shambala is a bit like the movie Cocoon and I am Jessica Tandy.  Rejuvenated and ready to party, albeit for a brief period of time.  I’m pretty sure that’s what those pods are at the Pod Cafe. My kids want to think themselves lucky I never got in one – I may never have left.


Cocoon pods, fountain of youth and IN


Point the way to the Kamikaze tent for the roller disco Mofos!

We roller-discoed on Friday (what’s up with that Shambala only being on one afternoon? – it was rammed!)
I say discoed. I mean, lurched around looking terrified whilst trying not to pass on the fear of falling to the younglings and muttering
“It’s not as easy as you remember is it?” as you try not to take out an undergrad from Bristol Uni in a gold morph suit, 1980’s Rossini windcheater and Unicorn head mask when you crash into the bale of straw.



Observe our concentration faces (and all hail Sexy Jesus)


Yeah! We’re doing it… sort of. Vertical at least.

Sadly no pictorial evidence of my sister stacking it on her backside – but probably just as well. #tailbonePOW
   We probably only managed about 30 minutes worth. It got too busy and pretty much everyone apart from the actual Bump RollerDisco people was as shite as us and it was becoming a bit hazardous.  Flailing arms, unsteady legs and Shambala Sparkling Cider are a friend to nobody on 4 wheels in a crowd.  It wouldn’t do to break a collarbone with 2 days still to go, so we hung up our skates and moved on.  We needed to get ready to kneel before the Lord and feel him inside us.  ‘OMG It’s the Church’ next on the main stage.  Big up to anyone else wearing the Sexy Jesus Tees. I know I definitely hugged two different ladies and we praised Jesus together.  


Other bands of note this year were ‘The House Gospel Choir’ – after about 4 tracks of old skool classics done in a gospel style, I said, “ohhhhh I get it now – House!”.

Can I get a FFS! 

Just another mum moment, like the now legendary “Orange? or Lemon?/ Hmmm yeeaaaah!incident in Tenerife the other year.  My Childerbeast might well despair sometimes when I stare aimlessly around when I can’t find them after a trip to the loo or the bar. Or go into a Rango style petit-mal while they say “Mum. Mum. Mum. Mum. Mum” at me until I snap back to reality.  However, if it wasn’t for me, they wouldn’t go to festivals, gigs or whatnot. I’m sure they love me really.  Am pretty sure there’s some kind of caveat about being a mum that you have to be fairly embarrassing sometimes and say dumb things.  Ditto being able to snap out of stupid tipsy mum mode and into sensible no-nonsense first aider mode when some poor fucker had a fit in the Roots Yard on day one. Easy now brother. Pace yourself. He seemed to be okay once he’d come round. Bit his tongue though. (he bit his own, I didn’t bite his tongue) Bit of tequila on that bad boy and I’m sure he’ll be reet.*  Hope you enjoyed the rest of the festival fit-free fella.


Day three I particularly enjoyed hearing my young neiceling being told to sort herself out or there would be no more treats, and her swift retort of “I’ll just ask Aunty Kit”No flies on that lass!  I may have accidentally bought them ice creams every day and unicorn horn headbands.

Other phrases of the weekend were “Fifteen million pounds for a mojito!!”, “Let’s tickle the crikey” (whilst sat inside the Lady Garden Vag).  “You need to queue if you want food”  – I seemed to do an awful lot of queueing and waiting. I’m sorry dumpling dudes, the Dorshi dumplings were alright but not 35 minutes of queueing worth of alright. I also learned not to give Rhona’s name for Ghanan food as it is too easily confused with ‘Anna’.  I hope Anna enjoyed her free extra portion of mixed whatever it was.  

Shambala had replaced ‘Fruity Friday’ with a less offensive name I forget – Non-Binary Friday or Gender Neutral non-denominational day of the week or something. Anyhow, it still seemed to involve a lot of cross-dressing and stick on moustaches.  We ventured into the Botanical Disco fairly late doors Friday and I’m not entirely sure what was happening in that boxing ring?  It was like an episode of GLOW but with Pete Burns from Dead or Alive and Divine on a shit load of cocaine.  We didn’t stick around.  It was a bit intense.
    We enjoyed the secret venue. Not in fact called the rave cave after all. I have since discovered it was the Data Mine, which explains the old computers and 1980’s tech.  The House Party was alright but not worth the queue. The Enchanted Wood was, as usual, a bit mind-bending. Great music in there. I particularly had fun with the weird hand machine thingumyjig. 

Cabaret was mix of aerial acts, jugglers, jokers and acrobats.  Great comedian on the Saturday night. Very funny. I vaguely remember it. Luckily I took some pictures inbetween drinking honey rum from a bottle a dude next to us generously shared before telling me he’d found it outside his tent.  I’d forgotten all about that too until the childerbeast reminded me about it two days later saying I shouldn’t accept random drinks from strangers. So that was me told!

Cabaret involved a lot of me and my sister looking at one another saying “Yup we could do that!” then laughing hysterically.

Fancy Dress parade on Saturday was something else!  Seems we were not the only ones with the Bee & beekeeper idea. We were Manchester Bees specifically but we were only a small part of the hive!  We managed to infiltrate a group of drumming bees and join them in the parade. The theme had been ‘Avant Garden’ and Shambalans did not skimp on the costumes (unlike us, who chose to travel light).  There were mushrooms, gnomes, giant insects, baby insects, Her Majesty’s Lady Garden, butterflies, Green Men, walking hedgerows, bejewelled nipples, you name it!  Good job people!


Pre parade PRU rave off





Different day. Different ice cream

Sunday was a bit of a chilly washout in the daytime. We sought sanctuary in the morning at The Lost Picture Show watching Fantasia. Cue 150 kids whispering loudly “Mummy when is Mickey Mouse coming on? You said Mickey Mouse was in it” And where else could you lay on an enormous bed being spooned by a stranger with dwarfism dressed as Cruella De Ville while you watch a Disney classic?  Not round here that’s for sure!  And I love that that’s okay.  You comment upon it but only to say “cool” or “nice one bruvva!” (sorry, had to get that one in here somehow).  Not about to let the rain put us off, we then took refuge in the Wonky Cock pub with a good old halloumimayo wrap and a few more pints of Shambala’s finest sparkling apple juice.


Cold but not yet beaten

Sunday night was the final showdown. This time my sister was ready to party (ready in fact from about 4pm!)  After the excellent closing ceremony which was all fireworks, slacklining across the lake, spangly ladies in hoops etc.   

I apologize to the lovely young people trying to get into the Swingamajig on Sunday to find their pals who were intercepted by the queue police (AKA my sister, resplendent in sequins, full of wine, mojito and rum and having none of it that they should get in front of us).  A negotiation was reached where I played peacemaker and she then decided to “bomb it off, I can’t be arsed waiting” about 2 minutes later.
Top night though.  So glad the Oxfam man didn’t make you go back to the tent palfinger sister of mine. Rhona thinks you’re a legend for getting her right to the sweaty, topless (for some) front at the
‘Electric Swing Circus’ gig when we eventually returned to the Swingamajig.  Man it was warm in there!  Geezer next to me was so sweaty his back had its own tidal system!

It turned into quite the girls night out!  Allie missed out but her time will come, I’m sure.



Tickle the crikey and who left their coat outside the cunt?


We ended the night back at the Wonky Cock. As you do. But we did not look quite as lively in the morning.



fresh fresh fresh


A most excellent adventure into utopia. And a utopia it was. It was clean. Even the loos seemed clean in comparison to Boomtown and other festivals. Everyone was polite and cheerful and happy and helpful.  When I had a gloom moment on Saturday that was part of the issue. I had an epiphany that beautiful as it was, it wasn’t real. I would have to go home to my non-utopian society where not all the food is vegetarian or vegan. Where most people are actually assholes and wearing sequins and glittery facepaint to the store is frowned upon. 

I told the childerbeast we probably wouldn’t go next year for cost reasons, given my new venture into enjoying my work but not getting paid as much as before.  However I don’t think I can miss a year. Where else am I going to be able to cut loose, glitter up and jump about?

Thank you Shambala. I have probably forgotten a whole load of brilliant elements of our lost weekend. A lot of it I guess you had to be there, to be honest anyway.  Super well done though on being so tidy and clean. Particularly at the end.

Remember kids.  Rave safe and don’t be afraid to touch the monkey, or the gecko, or the tarantula. Love your mum. She’s funner than you think and deserves to bounce about and be lairy from time to time. (Funner is totally a word. Probably)


chinny but actually quite fabulous


 Ciao Ciao Tutti. Xx

*FYI I did not actually douse the tongue of an epileptic boy with Jose Cuervo. Just to clarify.





Poltergeists and swimming with dollies

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Friday night Linda and I spent the night at 30 East Drive. This was a rearranged visit from when we were meant to go to back in March but it got cancelled when we had that arctic snap.
Had to call in at the local again first though. It did not disappoint.  Spent a most informative half hour with ‘Donna’ regaling us with tales of her experiences with the afterlife.


All hail the Chequerfield – everyone’s favourite local – love it!

The premise of the East Drive story is that in the late 1960’s some weird shit supposedly went down at this semi in Pontefract. Not many people knew about it but now… the place has become something of a cash cow for various paranormal investigation groups, the owner of the house and no doubt, the lady who lives next door.


We’re heeeeeeere!

I usually have a bit of a vibe for these things and after two visits I’m not convinced that there’s anything happening there that can’t be explained by science, common sense or the power of suggestion on a susceptible mind.

Didn’t stop us having a great night, particularly as many of the other guests were noobs to this kind of thing. One actually left early doors – not sure if it was because she realized very early in the game that the house (IMO) is about as haunted as my anus, or she was creeped out and bailed for safety.

So cue the usual comedy torchlit selfies and calling out for “copy me” while tapping on tables and listening for people’s bellies to reply.  We also found a Buckaroo in the teenage girl’s bedroom.  Shadow theatre time…


I’m not saying I don’t ‘believe’.  I’ve experienced strange shit before that I can’t really explain. I’m just saying I need rather more convincing than the odd rattle, scratch or tap that could easily be explained by settling houses, heat expansion, cold, vermin etc.

We had opted for the full overnighter and much to our joy, we were the only ones who were staying.  TBH by 3:30am though I was done in and rather than rake around upstairs, we stayed in the living room and I was asleep fairly quickly in a purportedly haunted rocking chair.  Despite my skepticism, I did not get into my sleeping bag in case a speedy exit was necessary. Didn’t fancy Scooby Dooing it out the door entangled in my sleeping bag just in case the resident poltergeist decided to prove me wrong.


Don’t forget your penguin Scoob!


‘Haunted’ or not, I was going to sleep

We had more of a wander after about 90 minutes sleep once it was daylight. And what better way to coax the undead from the shadows than finding some party hats in a drawer and putting them on?
I’ve seen
“The Book of Life” and “Corpse Bride” – it looks like one long colourful continual party in the afterlife.


We didn’t want the ‘haunted’ rock to feel left out

We also managed to (in our opinion) debunk the mystery of the creaky creepy opening door in the main bedroom, which had freaked everyone out the night before. I have fingerprint-shaped bruises on my left forearm from Linda squeezing it to bits and mumbling “foooooooookinnnnnn hellllllll” into my ear.   Scary at the time. However in the fresh light of day, nothing to see here people. Just a huge coincidence and a door left ajar coming loose from the carpet and opening – albeit with an atmospheric house of horror creaking sound effect.

Fab night though, despite remaining unconvinced that there is a resident poltergeist or the spirit of the dead dad lurking in the bathroom, or a misunderstood monk (“I didn’t force her!”)  Not sure when our next investigation will be. But I do want to check out Newsham Park Abandoned Hospital near Liverpool – just not sure when we can manage to do that. But if anyone out there needs me to come round, debunk your creaky house and fall asleep in a chair after I’ve raked about in all your drawers and worn all your hats – then give me a call.


Meanwhile, I am now qualified to teach Baby and Preschool swim classes. And, despite what you might think, does not just mean, “sticking armbands on a snotty kid and letting them bob about in the shallow end”.  Cheeky!
I already kind of miss ‘Cleveland’ – my training dolly, after taking care of him for 3 days last week while on my training course.  I might have to get myself my very own Cleveland.  So bring on the babies.  I’m ready…

Later duuuuudes Xx


Trust in me….

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So we’ve checked out the Life Church, we’ve checked out the Spiritual Church. On Saturday we checked out a stage hypnotist at a Pudsey cricket club.

We’re like Donal McIntyre and Stacey Dooley.



Feel the magic.  Look into my eyes, all around the eyes, only the eyes… aaaand you’re back in the room!


He said you couldn’t volunteer if you had any kind of serious mental issue where you might turn tonto and get violent, so I didn’t risk it just in case – not that I think I would have done anyway.  Who knows what’s lurking about inside my head!

The short version.  What a crock!

A bunch of locals who all knew one another, and an unconvincing barmaid who despite being seemingly “under” as she volunteered, suddenly remembered when her break was over and jumped up to return to serving at the bar when there was a rush on.

One geezer never came back after the interval. Presumably last seen pedaling a child’s trike down Stanningley Bypass and barking like a Yorkshire terrier because he hadn’t had “the power of suggestion removed”.

fat man on a little bike-1

In the second half, a lad who was sat near us who’d been rejected as a volunteer at first for not concentrating enough – had a second go.  He seemed to go “under” well enough but at the end of the show he returned to his group and asked how his AmDram performance had looked.  He also said “the sleep thing worked for about 2 minutes” but dismissed the rest as bullshit.  As had we, quite early on in proceedings.

The best part was the people watching TBH.  Someone’s mum had a go at someone else’s mum. We think it was something to do with their kids who were larking about the premises elsewhere.  It seemed to calm down so we didn’t stick around to see if there was a rumble in the car park.

Next stop – the spiritualist cafe we’ve found in Armley.  Tea, scones and “You’re right, she did look like your wife from behind.”

Ciao Ciao









I’m oot!

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Regrets. I’ve had a few, But now we’ve reached the final curtain. 

The laptop has been handed in.  The unattractive staff pass also gone. 


My house is full of flowers and cards, the shed full of booze and cupboards not quite as full of chocolate as they were before the childerbeast got their mitts on them.

I am still not sure how I feel. 

I didn’t actually cry but I did almost go a couple of times.  Particularly at this.  I had to pretend to be sorting out my bag for about 5 minutes until I composed myself. I especially like the drawing of me.



The 6 of us who are leaving (5 by choice, 1 pretty much pushed out) weren’t going to get a mass send-off because seemingly there was no point getting 190 children into the hall just to say goodbye to some people.

Riiiight. okaaaay.   Think we know where we stand there.

Show you don’t give a shit care and all that.  More like Be Yourself Always (even if you’ve got no people skills).


Some people do care and they cared enough to kick up a bit of a stink about that so we did actually get our big send off. Ten years and my eulogy was pretty much thus… So Miss is leaving and she’s going to continue teaching but to swim, instead.  Hip hip hurray. Off you pop.

I’m not sure if the original lack of organised farewell assembly was out of fear of any of us leavers going postal or having a vent during a leaving speech – in fairness, it could have happened.  I thought I was good though. I didn’t swear. I slipped the Co-Op values in there and a bit of Jim Jones final speech and a bit of Marshall Applewhite (whilst wearing my Heaven’s Gate Away Team top).  Lots of kids seemed genuinely sad to see me go (until they forget all about me come September) and I know some of the staff will miss me greatly.

I accidentally cut my own forehead with my thumbnail when catching a ball today and left a lovely bloody mark.  A child asked what happened, I said I’d stabbed myself in the face rather than return to work in September.  She just said “Oh ok”


But it’s time to move on. Even if it ends up being a bit tight cashwise.  I can’t work in that environment anymore, no matter how much fun it (sometimes) is.  I’m doing what matters most – and that’s not being there, because otherwise I’ll lose the plot again and it’ll be jigsaw time in my PJs once more and popping BetaBlockers like TicTacs..

I wish the children every success and I hope my replacement does a grand job.  She doesn’t speak much French but hey, teachers can teach French aswell you know?  I know.  But they often don’t do it well love.  Scheme or no scheme. And in fact a lot of the stuff I taught wasn’t from the scheme – same with topic, science and music – because I’m an independent thinker who, despite scatty appearances, is actually bright enough to not have to rely on a scheme.  Not that anyone will now have access to any of my ten years worth of lesson plans and resources after I deleted them all from the network.

Yes. I don’t just bite my thumb, I bite it at you.

it’s this kind of shit I’ll miss – pretty much everything else can get knotted. 



So roll on the next six weeks.  Meeting friends, seaside trips, festivals, ghosthunts, swim training and more festivals and trying not to fall out with the Famalam.




Fiery nights and almost the last goodbye

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Had some pals round on Saturday night as a bit of a slightly early end of term send off.

Quality moments included inappropriate remarks about burning the gays or some Jews on the chiminea; playing Jessie’s Diets in the shed doorway and my friend and neighbour crashing through the gate like the Honey Monster shouting “I’m arseholed! Let me in!” 

images (3)

Playing Peters & Lee Vs Stevie Wonder swingball in the dark. Terrifying one of the young TAs with Cards Against Humanity and getting a lapdance when you least expect it.



I learned not to trust certain people with fire guard duty or you’ll come back from the bathroom to find Dante’s Inferno beneath the gazebo and also that crisps are barred from the next soiree.

I woke up bolt upright on the settee when Bman came home from his night out. I’d fallen asleep seemingly midway through attempting to tidy up.  He helpfully put a Halloween jelly mould on my head and took photos for prosperity.



Good times!

Now tomorrow is my last day at school and I don’t know how I feel about it, other than utterly knackered after being awake from 3:30am this morning until 6am when I managed to grab an hours kip.  Worrying about cash flow from September.


Zombie times.

Been a lot of ‘lasts’ this week.  Last time teaching this class or that class. Last time doing Y6 register. Last Monday. Last Tuesday. Last PPA.  Tomorrow will be the last of it all and I think I might actually blub in front of everyone despite actually being relieved about leaving.  Let’s see how it goes…