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This is a local post for local people

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I appear to be having some kind of midlife crikey lately where, despite looking my age, I actually seem to be mentally regressing.  19 on the inside.  69 (dude!!) on the outside. And it’s panicking me a bit. I’ll be buying rollerboots next and trying to get off with 26 year olds.

Look at those crinkly eyes!  Those pores!
I think I might have peaked at 34.  Although am strangely happier with my body now at 47 than I ever have before. Pity no bugger wants to see it though.



WTF is happening here? Laughing too much & gozzy-eyed squinting have taken their toll


To distract myself from inevitable decrepitude and the fact that it’s only going to get worse if I turn into one of those botoxed. boob-lifted, peroxide Patsy Stone types, I chose today to check out a local meeting (for local people).


I don’t want to get old. I’m still only mentally about 20

I follow our local area’s FB group page to see what’s what in the hood – who’s been robbed lately or had their knickers stolen off the line – that type of thing.  It’s recently gone a bit westside and has been more entertaining than the Brexit saga, all because someone has erected a chain across a snicket/ginnel/alley/twitchell/call it what you will, in order to deter rogue quad bike riders and teenage drug dealers.  This has caused outrage and much chuntering on FB. I have been following the saga on the community page with a mix of neighbourly interest, amusement, and frustration at some of the questionable spelling.

With nothing better to do with my Monday other than bemoan my encroaching slide into the domain of the desperate old woman, I decided to wander down to the local meeting for local people, which had been arranged by our local councillor and to be held, oddly, at the site of the disputed chain. I was there in a people-watching capacity only, as I couldn’t give a shit if someone has the right or not to try to stop people riding dirt bikes and quads down their back alley or dealing drugs next to their back yard.  I was more interested in who else rocked up and whether the people who had been so vocal online were there in person.


What’s all this shouting? We’ll have no trouble here!


I’d wanted to arrive on a quad, through the disputed public right of way, whilst smoking a massive spliff, just out of badness and because I’m a piss-taking, trouble causing cunt, but couldn’t obtain the necessaries at such short notice, so I just walked round instead.

There were no pitchforks or flaming torches but it was fairly depressing.  Despite the local councillor and the dude from the council who deals with public rights of way disputes and such, reminding the small crowd to listen and not argue over the top of one another, that is of course, what happened.  Everyone had an opinion. It was the usual Top Trumps local edition of who has lived around here the longest like that’s a badge of honour rather than a poor life choice or a rut you are now stuck in.
The poor woman who was responsible for the drama spoke up to explain herself and I couldn’t tell you half of what she said because guess what? people were talking over her to each other and not listening.  Too busy chuntering and grumbling about losing their short cut.

I was asked twice whether or not I even lived on the street. I said no I didn’t, I lived around the corner and was there purely in the interest of sociology and psychology and that thus far I had not been disappointed. I did speak up when a couple of people were a bit mean after the lady had gone back inside her house.  But of course they were – people are mean – it’s human nature, unfortunately.


Several people had even arrived in vehicles, which led me to think about how local they actually were if it had warranted a drive but that…like the chain fence, is none of my business.



Meanwhile, the Bman is back from his weekender in Manc (which was initially only an evening), so I no longer have the bed to myself.  If he snores I may have to adopt this approach. We’ve tried everything else.  Snore pillows, nasal strips, mouth guards, punching him in the ribs.

It could be a win-win situation for me.



Who will sit with me in the dark like the Mad Hatter?

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With no discernible reasoning and being happier in my life than I have in years, I have felt myself sliding towards the rabbit hole the last few days.  For the first time in months I had to take a couple of my beta blockers last week. (I told you didn’t I that it never goes away).


My mind has been racing with loony thoughts and tick-tock tick-tocking back and forth between feeling absolutely fine, to being awake late at night or in the wee small hours with a head full of utter rubbish. Crazy half dreams and visions. Thoughts that made no sense whatsoever, interlaced with rational thoughts and worries (but nothing you could deal with at 3am).


I have been distracting myself with Facebook, AKA the thief of time and the devil’s own tool.  Not helpful truth be told. I should bomb the fucker off again for a mental cleanse but I need it for the Koolkids page, thus making it far too easy to get sucked into the newsfeed. Like this, comment on that, post the other. Must have recognition. Must spout views. Must post flattering photo so everyone knows how fabulous we are even though usually, we look like homeless elderly tramps. Must have instant gratification of a thumbs up or a smiley. Hello, hello, I’m here. (Where are you?) I’m here (Where are you? )*

This week I am distracting myself by dogsitting my friend’s pug. What an odd looking ugly  little fucker he is, bless him.  He is currently on time-out in his bed for being too giddy and jumping from couch to couch laughing at me and he is now snoring like Bman whilst asleep sat up.  The cats are not impressed with his presence but they’ll have to get used to it until next week.

Meanwhile I will take my life one day at a time and try not to overthink things, overeat, drink too much, or chew my nails down to the quick. I must remember that life is good (despite the Brexit balls-up) and that I am loved and not a complete waste of space or air. No, I won’t change the world but that’s okay. As long as I do alright in my world then that’ll do.

*one for the Pulp fans there


How looooooong has this been going on?

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Anyone else wondering if it all might go a bit ‘Game of Thrones’ or ‘Threads’ once we / if we eventually leave the EU? 
Failure of the national grid? Walls of ice separating north and south? Fights to the death over lettuces in Aldi?  Children burnt at the stake to appease non-existent gods?
Forget dope and crack – the dealers will be cashing in, selling insulin and ibuprofen under cover of darkness.  Mothers bartering sexual favours in doorways in exchange for rats in a basket to feed their kids because we can’t get cans of beans anymore? 

It almost went that way yesterday when Whatsapp, FB and Insta all went down at the same time and the entire nation had to make conversation with their loved ones rather than communicating via memes.  Thousands of posed & heavily filtered photos remained unposted. People around the country were denied the knowledge of what their old school friends, not seen for 25 years, had eaten for their tea!  


What a catastrophic clusterfuck of ineptitude our government is at the moment?  When are we changing the national anthem to the Benny Hill theme tune?  We must be a laughing stock to the rest of Europe.  FFS!
I didn’t vote to leave but I respect anyone’s decision who did, providing they voted as best they could with the scant information I felt we’d been given.  I’m not sure anyone actually knew what was going to happen. Although if you were one of those people who voted to leave because you thought anyone not born and raised within the sound of the Bow Bells would be immediately deported, then you, my friend are a bellend and I do not respect your decision.
  I used to be in charge of School Council when I worked in a school (this one time…) and a bunch of primary school children seemed more capable of sorting their shit out than our current lot in charge.


Meanwhile, I have got some new sneakers and they are super comfortable and feel very bouncy – I may even be tempted on my walk to work to break into a light jog – who knows.




Am also slightingly disturbed that in the last few days when I log on to FB on the laptop, I am getting pop up ads for viagra and sites which encourage random sexual encounters!  One of which depicted a cartoon image of a woman astride a man who was sat upon a washing machine – the heading read, “Are you having a dry spell?”  WTF Facebook?


Ciao Ciao MoFos.  I’m off to stockpile like an end of days prepper and watch people yelling at one another on Question Time  Xx

MSGs, sea air and hair

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I recently posted on ArseBook about how much it had saddened me that eldest Childerbeast had lured her friend round for tea on the basis of being able to have a pot noodle.

I would like it noted for the record that we do not habitually eat such things.  I am not known for my culinary prowess, I won’t lie. But I can manage a lasagne or other pasta-based meals or heat up a pie or whatever.  The children like my jam tarts and my mushroom and stilton pate has become something of a Christmas tradition.   Seemingly, my daughter’s pal is not allowed to have such a thing as a Pot Noodle, so had to come to the wrong side of 8-Mile to indulge in such an illicit substance.

I used to quite enjoy a Pot Noodle but now I can take them or leave them (preferably leave them).  I was at work when said friend came round, but apparently, the verdict was “I don’t think I’ll be having another one anytime soon”. So perhaps all was not lost and a learning curve was steered.  Maybe this could become a thing.  Allowing the youth to try out forbidden items in the hope of putting them off.  Like me pointing out Ketamine casualties to my girls at Boomtown with the stark warning of “Don’t be THAT girl”

As I posted on FB ‘next week…glue sniffing’



The Bman and I went to Scarborough for the day last week on one of his days off. A bit of an impromptu visit.  Can’t remember the last time I went TBH.  The fresh salty air and compulsory fish & chip lunch were most pleasant and the magic words from Bman (clearly drunk on sea air) of “Do you want owt?” when I made him look in the window of Shipton’s the Jewellers came as a welcome surprise, which I immediately took advantage of.


Happy Valentine Day to me

It was a little depressing seeing lots of places gone to the dogs or looking beyond jaded. When people can go abroad for the same price as a family holiday on the English seaside, but where they can be guaranteed hot sunshine, it’s not surprising that places go to rack and ruin.  Such a shame.  Those days of Victorians flocking there to take the waters and even the heady days of the 70s and 80’s – even the 90’s, have long gone.  There’s only one nightclub in town these days and tourists would be hard pushed to find it.

On the way back to the station we did a double-take as a familiar face passed us as we were crossing the road – they also did a double-take at us.  “Was that…?”  / “I think it was you know…”
  And that was a bit depressing. Someone from an old friendship group (who will remain nameless) who looked bloody terrible.  Black eye, dodgy muzzie, shambling to the dole office with a sense of purpose and looking about 20 years older than us.  I once had an ill-advised crush on this person, which resulted in a one-time drunken pash. The state of him the other day I was glad it had gone no further.  Sliding Doors man.  How do people end up on such a path?  There but for the grace of etc etc…

Meanwhile, I got my crispy chlorinated weave trimmed today and my hairdresser deserves a medal for tackling that mammoth task without gardening gloves and shears. 

Snaps to her for making something sleek out of my usual surfer’s seaweedy nest.


The smoothness won’t last

 Ciao Ciao Xx




You’ve got a friend in me

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I was contemplating my friends list yesterday. Not the Facebook friends list. Everyone on my FB friends list has merit, don’t get me wrong,  but sometimes I wonder if I would recognize them in the line at Morrisons or if they would know me. (I’m not always underwater for a start).

There are about 5 names I can list (but won’t) who I used to consider a really good friend.

But now…  not so much.

And I’m not even sure what happened.


What did I do to have them blow me out like that?  I must’ve become boring, or annoying or hacked them off somehow.

Pardon about that.

Their loss though.


Who wouldn’t want to be friends with this?





Sometimes it can be a bit weird, I won’t lie.  As the following screenshots from a messenger conversation last night will testify:-

It started with this newspaper article in yesterday’s Metro.




 Poor Lennie Peters. Sod’s Law that he was bricked in his good eye!



Fairly standard TBH.



Big-up to the crazy people who have stuck by me since the get-go and welcome aboard to all new passengers.  Buckle up MoFos and keep your limbs inside the vehicle at all times. To those who jumped ship – what’s up with that? Where did you go? You’re missing a trick. Come back aboard the love train. Unless you think you’re better than me, or I’m not good enough for you – in which case, fuck off then.


So what’s happening?

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So I deactivated Facebook before I went on holiday as an experiment. (the deactivation was the experiment, not the holiday)

It turns out that you do not need to know what your old 1980’s school pals are having for their lunch or what they did at the weekend.  You haven’t known for over 30 years and you survived and thrived perfectly well.

I have found it strangely liberating and a giant stride towards mental health equilibrium.

Speaking of… not sure E4 E-sting of a couple of cartoon heifers dancing about in front of a sign-post about ‘Mad Cows’ was deliberate or an awkward coincidence during Mental Health Awareness Week (and just before a message about mental health).

I am still signed off sick from work from being nutty as fruitcake ‘anxiety issues’ and for the first time in my life, since that one year in the 90’s when combat trousers and tight tops were all the rage courtesy of ‘All Saints’, I appear to actually be on trend.
It’s ok these days to be a bit barking apparently.  Even the Royal Family say it’s alright.


Have begun to feel considerably less anxious and dippy about everything than I was before, but then I am at home most of the time so I have no cause to be anxious.  (I do also have a prescription which I avoided for a very long time, that’s probably helping more than I’d like to admit).  I tell you what though. Do not ever read the contra-indications on your meds.  YOU WILL DIE!  it doesn’t say that really. BUT YOU MIGHT DIE!  it pretty much did say that.  I forget whether it was as a result of taking the tablets at all or if you stopped taking them without telling your GP – either way, I decided to ignore that and just threw them in the bin (the contra-indication notes, not the pills).

So what else have I learned while I have been at home with my thumb up my arse?
    * My husband is nicer than I thought
    * Daytime TV is mostly shit
    * I have watched about 8600 hrs of various Most Haunted type shows
    * Most of them are exactly the same but I watch them anyway
    * Several of my friends actually don’t really give a shit that I’m off & why
    * I am ok with that
    * It’s ok to be ok with sometimes not being ok


images courtesy of google images

Breakdowns and birthdays

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After a poor mental start to the week with a minor breakdown in the shed and then the following night a rather more vocal one in the house…


… I deleted Facebook and the BBC News app from my Kindle, to make access to the World Wide Web of shame, shenanegins & shite, a lot harder. I will have to put much more effort into reading about what my friends are drinking/eating/watching/feeling and whatever hideousness has gone on in the world.



I am feeling a lot less like a loonbag today after channeling my inner Esther Williams at yet another local pool.  Think I will systematically work my way around all the pools in the region to try and find my favourite.

We almost didn’t get in at all when the receptionist mistook my youngest for a boy and almost refused her entry to the women’s and girls only session.  Poor Al.  AKA Sonny Jim.


Was showing my youngest and her friend a dive and seeing if I could make it all the way to the other end under water. When I surfaced (I was short by about 3 metres) the lifeguard lady gave me a big thumbs up and shouted “Hey, do you want a job?”


I do.

That would be awesome.



It’s my eldest girl’s birthday today.  This time 12 years ago I was sat in LGI, literally holding the baby and wondering “WTF!  How am I supposed to look after this tiny thing?”  A dozen years later and I haven’t managed to completely break her, traumatize her or psychologically damage her beyond repair yet.   So far so good.

I don’t know what happened to the little girl who wanted everything Moshi Monster?  This year she wanted a windows smart phone (that I could happily have hurled out of the window this morning when trying to set the fucker up!)  Bloody technology.  The more it seems to evolve, the more I seem to hate it.  The only reason I continue to write this blog is because it’s like talking to myself without actually having to open my mouth.

I’m sure I’d be much happier if I was a dolphin. Just swimming about, eating fish and laughing away all day long.