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Monday (or is it? – my memory aint what it was)

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First week back at the Ranch has all been so far so good.

Long may it continue… Miss my Gene Genie though.  I made a slightly risqué gag the other day & was shot down in flames.  Gene Genie would’ve have roared with laughter.  (I heard you in my head babe).



I logged onto this blog full of intention to go on some kind of politically themed rant… but I’ve totally forgotten what I was going to say.

This is the future now.  Elderly times. Forgetting shit and wandering aimlessly.


Am pretty sure it was something along the lines of jumping on the Jeremy Corbyn current affairs train but am not sure where I stand on that. I haven’t been listening.
There was also something about the push to change the rules on getting agency staff to cover when unions go on strike.  Surely, if the powers that be took heed of the reasons that unions go on strike in the first place, then there wouldn’t be any strikes and therefore no necessity for agency staff to cover?

I had other things to go on about but they’ve completely slipped my mind. I am sure they were of great import and would’ve been extremely succinctly and cleverly put. 

We’ll never know, because my brain is made of candyfloss. 

Instead I shall share with you how I managed to chat up the postman this evening into adding a pre-paid packet of mine to his collection, thus saving me a trip to the post office (it only just, didn’t fit in the post box).  I salute you Sir and thank you.  Am not suggesting for a moment that I didn’t rely heavily on the womanly angle to get my way but suffice to say, had I gone up to the post box in my saggy old slackydaks and fleece, I don’t think he would have entertained me at all.  Glad I hadn’t got changed from work out of my cute new 50’s dress.


I’m about to test my candyfloss brain with some Monday night ‘Only Connect’ now (having already got a massive 3 questions correct on ‘University Challenge’).

If I remember what it was I had a bee in my bonnet about I am sure I will tell you.

Ciao dudes Xx





It’s coz I talk proper n that

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So what’s new?

Not a lot.  I didn’t even get up until 11am today.  Bone idle biatch!  No wonder I need to lose 2 stone.  Tan lines are fading and I’m disappointed in my new foundation – I still look like me with it on – Not good enough Revlon!

Oh, speaking of gaining weight – I am the new voice of a Pregnancy Crisis Helpline because apparently I have a nice ‘telephone voice’.  My suggestion of jazzing it up for the young un’s by singing it:-   “Hey how ya doin?  Sorry you got knocked up…” was rejected though and I had to do it sensibly. 


There is also talk of hitting the nightclubs with promotional stickers for this new crisis hotline and papering the backs of toilet doors with them.  I did suggest that Bman be sent out to do it but then, remembering his proclivity for attaching random stickers onto people, thought the better of it.  Many’s the time I have been at work and found erroneous ‘Only 99p!’ or ‘Fyffes bananas’ stickers on the back of myself!


Let’s have a bit of 50s pin up art to make us all feel better.

Tan is fading

Tan lines

 Gil Elvgren pic from Google Images

Can everyone please stop talking & shut the hell up please

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Bit parky out!

Bit parky out!

I won’t lie to you.  It’s cold out!


Scored an extra day of the weekend thanks to 5ft snowdrifts blocking the fire exits at school meaning it was closed today!



Rather than volunteering to help to shovel the snow away, I chose to shovel money into the profits at WM Morrison with Husband and Childerbeast in tow, having first had a brief flirt round B&M.  Saw this quality item of naffness on the shelves & cringed to myself, thinking “what kind of person buys this shit?”



Imagine then, my face when Bman rocked up at the till with it in his sticky mitts, looking pleased with himself!



It is now in pride of place atop the spare coat wardrobe in the office… well out of my line of vision.

I spent 10 minutes looking at hair colourants in Morries; eventually chose one and then abandoned it at the till.  41 years old and I’ve finally realised that there’s little point altering the colour of my crappy barnet a shade or two. I’m still me at the end of the day.  Still got moles, lumps, rosacea of the cheeks and a propensity toward the morose about the personality.  I’ve not bought a killer heel in years (nowhere to wear them) and have even caught myself looking at novelty onesies, thinking “Hmmm, but they do look so warm” 

Time to forget trying to be someone I’m not & just accept myself for what I amI am not a 1950’s pin up artist’s muse.  I’m a frazzled, lazyass hausfrau & wannabe Miss Jean Brodie who’s happier in her PJ’s, watching TV & supping tea, than strutting about round town.

… and you know what?

… I’m okay with that!


(BTW I was rocking the onesie as loungewear way back in ’92 –  20 years ago dahhhling).




That was the week that was (shit)

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First week back into the realm of the working man has been…well… shit, to put it mildly!  It was ugly and unpleasant and I don’t want to go there ever again.

With the help of our friend Gil Elvgren let us focus solely on fluffy kittens and cute puppies instead and forget it ever happened.




Favourite news stories from this week include these 3:-

Loo with a View  and I thought the view across Liverpool from the bathroom window of the Adelphi Hotel was rather pleasant as I took a shit one Sunday morning one June… but this view just about trumps it (as it were).


What can I say? Apart from how the hell is this dude an MP? He looks about 18!


Dem bones dem bones

As if Whitby doesn’t attract enough goths, faux vampires & emos at the best of times without the possibility of a photo opp with exposed human skeletons!

Watch out for those bones in your Fortunes Kippers aswell, they may be on the large side this year –  “Hello! isn’t this a femur?”


FYI on a school trip when I was about 6 years old we had our lunch in this very graveyard.  My mum had bought me a cream donut especially and when I came to eat it out of my ‘Holly Hobbie’ lunchbox (with roughneck flask), it was nowhere to be seen.  I searched all around, convinced it had been stolen, until a classmate pointed out, gleefully, that it was squashed flat and stuck to the seat of my cords! 

 You heard me…. cords!  (Don’t judge me!  I was a child in 1977!)


Ciao for now dudes  Xx

Pictures courtesy of Google Images

In retrospect P2

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Name that Tune:    “I am the raindrop out at sea. I cause the ripples that become the crashing waves” – Reign, Ian Brown

Movie Quote of the Day:   “I’m not simply frivolous you know. I never ever want to be taken for granted” – Mrs Henderson Presents


A loud comment in the right direction and stamping ones feet a little sometimes DOES still work, even though I am clearly 38 years too old to be having hissy fits about not getting a party bag!

I was presented with this, by one of the dinner ladies this afternoon with an apologetically belated chorus of Happy Birthday


Don't mind if I do!

Don’t mind if I do!

Speaking out and making a big enough fuss clearly does pay… there’s a lot of it about!

Well, I’ve had my 2012 retrospective and now it’s January 8th, which can only mean one thing…

     Cue swirling mists and those wiggly dissolving images to depict a flashback (topical) about to begin.

Back in a much greener painted kitchen, when I was less haggard, much slimmer and people still used Myspace, on this day in 2006, I started up this blog. 

Back then (as only a few of you will recall) it was called ‘Diary of a Desperate Housewife’ – hence the reason you may see tags for DOADHW attached to my posts.  I wasn’t desperate, and was shortly due to return to work at a real job with a real wage (but crapper holidays) from my second maternity leave, so I wasn’t technically a housewife either.  I had recently become engrossed in the TV show though and was blogging under that name long before any other imitators of the same name!

Since then it has also been temporarily (while I cyber hid for a while) called ‘All Hail the Jinna’ and now here we are with ‘Divine secrets….’ – a title magpied from one of my favourite books.



I wanted to use the internet to express myself and use it as a cathartic vent. I didn’t care if anyone read it (and still don’t) .  Some people did.   Some of them still do and have been along for the ride for many a year (god help them).  Some of them lived thousands of miles away but are now so much closer although alas, not on the old 508 route!  Ironically the very number of the beast, tagged in many a post, that attracted my blog to their attention all the way down under!

I have all those early entries on back up and wanted to reproduce the first ever entry for you here. However, technology is such that it was all backed up on floppy disk!  A-Drive?  What is this archaic portal of which you speak?  A-Drive? Eh?

I remember it going something along the lines of; comparing myself to someone from Eastenders who isn’t on it anymore.  I forget who, but it wasn’t anybody glam. 

I tried not to bang on about my kids as I didn’t want to be known as a Mummy Blog.  Mostly it was Alan Bennett-esque observations about Morrisons and shopping in Bradford and people who needed to use more conditioner on their hair….. Shit! I’m amazed I wasn’t closed down.  Still, there’s duller shit than that out there on the etheral plains of the cyber highway – trust me!

I believe in free speech and although I have offended some people and some friends have left the wolf pack (as it were). So be it.  I’m not apologising for saying what I think.  Don’t like it?  Sod off & go play on The Sims or whatever!

This is my modern day equivalent of a teenage diary, like the ones that came with a crappy little key and you got for christmas and spent all year blathering bollocks into and were shamed into shredding at the end of the year in case anyone found it. (I had several years worth of these, which I collected into a carrier bag when I was 14 and hid in a ditch behind the park on Knebworth Court, Bishop’s Stortford.)  Go and look for it if you like. Knock yourself out.  The park is long gone.  They built little houses on every last scrap of land up there years ago!

I may talk bollocks on here too just like I did in my diaries.  Just like the early 90’s letters (some of which DO still exist  – thankyou Wigster!)


Sometimes I’m told, I can be quite funny.  FYI, contrary to common consensus, I don’t always say what I think, because also contrary to outward appearances, sometimes I don’t want to upset people or hurt their feelings.  For everything that is said, there’s a whole lot more whirling around in my head that I don’t put down.  If all else fails it’s an excuse for me to inflict movie quotes and song lyrics on you and indulge in my passion for 1950’s pin up art.



I’ve only ever deleted one post.  Way back in 2006.  But I was a newbie at this and I very much regret deleting it a whole lot more than what was written, which was of course, brilliant (if slightly raw).


So, read.  Don’t read.  Whatevs.

But to quote another movie line…  “Hey!  See you in the next life!”

"Want to know how it all ends?"

“Want to know how it all ends?”

 Ciao for now Xx

Images courtesy of google image



I just re-read this and want to make it perfectly clear that this is not a  suicide note people!

On the 12th day of Christmas my true love gave to me…..Noro Virus

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Name that tune:  “Been a long time. I shouldn’t have left you. Without a strong rhyme to step to” – I know you got soul, Eric B & Rakim

Move Quote of the Day:  “I’m waiting for her head to start spinning round” – Parenthood



Since I last wrote. I am now half-way to 82.


Birthday last day at work.  Busy busy, Christmas jumpers, yadayada. No party bag AGAIN from the dinner ladies, even though I added my name to the list and mentioned it twice.

I think we all now know where I stand on that score…

Uneventful journey to Chester Y’s.  World supposedly was ending at 1713 GMT, at which point the childerbeast and I were on board the Arriva Trains Wales, Manc Piccadilly to Chester, sharing a chocolate orange.  I could think of worse ways to go if I’m honest.   The sacred time came and went and unless you count passing through Newton le Willows, nothing sinister or untoward occurred.

                    The World moved on…. pretty much in the same shit way as before


Apparently 2012 Apocalyptic end of days is so last year darling (well, technically, as I write, it’s still this year). 

2018 is the all new end of days. 

By then, unless I come a cropper in a freak washing-up accident, I will be 47 and about done for I should imagine, so bring it on I say.

Note to Self:  train childerbeast, Sarah Connors style, to survive all-out Nuclear holocaust/zombie invasion/breakdown of civilised society.

Birthday money –  Very nice thank you very much all.  May treat self to new mattress and I have just realised Thing1 needs new passport for July trip to France so £46 of it will go on that!


23rd Dec, we were back on train to Boro.  Christmassy feeling now kicking in.  Very nice. About time too.  Then on Christmas Eve very early morning as karmic punishment to my annual “Don’t like it Christmas” munterings, I was rudely awoken by a poorly Thing1 who only just made it to the bathroom for a Chunderbirds are Go situation.  Cue rest of night/wee small hours spent holding back her hair while she continued to barf and between barfs, begged me to make it stop.


Christmas Eve visit to Santa’s Grotto at the magical Boyes; lunch at The Hut and some last minute gift purchasing and casual retail therapy on self, now kiboshed and just another pipe dream.

TV in spare room at Grandma’s also bolloxed, so no festive telly to watch while I sat at my wee one’s sickly bedside.


She began to rally towards the end of the day and managed to make it downstairs.  Colour returning to her cheeks just as it began to drain from Thing 2’s.

Ding Ding. Round 2!   Older child = bigger insides = lots more hurlage!


This time, for added “Fuck You and your Christmas sucks attitude!”  This one was firing from both ends.

“Nurse! The Screens please” and “Grandma where do you keep the Vim?”

Bejeebus.  Someone somewhere was laughing at me good style, let me tell you!

Rest of evening not spent inhaling Quality Street and drinking self into acute liver failure, which is as it should be.  Instead it was buckets and bowls, showering children clean, changing bed linen and hoping against hope that they would both settle down and get to sleep and feel better for Santa…


Fortunately, they both did sleep and feel better.  We were up at a respectable 7am.  Santa HAD been, although some of his choices were a little bizarre.

I know what's on Santa's mind

I know what’s on Santa’s mind


An odd gift but much appreciated

It's as big as my face!

It’s as big as my face!

 Loved my Jenny Lawson book and Gil Elvgren calender though – well done the Bman!Xx


 For the children… he may have underestimated the height of Thing2 because when she opened up her new scooter & hopped aboard, it looked like a remake of Gulliver’s Travels or perhaps Santa mistook her gifts for Warwick Davis’s

I would have loved to have inserted an amusing picture here of her hunched over the handlebars, but she refused to let me take a photo.

She eventually saw the funny side once she stopped beefing and of course mummy dearest promised to make good Santa’s ineptitude, so a scooter more suitable for someone of her height, for the princely sum of £35 is on its way, in the early new year.

One year, I will spend my birthday money on myself.


Boxing Day, as I may have mentioned, is a day of drinking and catching up with (or hiding from) old school pals and exes in the bars and saloons of Scarborough.  A tradition dating back to when Fisherman’s Wives invented binge drinking in the days before alcopops.

I was looking forward to it.

In usual circumstances I would write an entirely separate blog entry about my adventures on this day. Painting a picture of hedonistic, debauched rumbunctiousness of a Bacchanalian nature.  Photographic evidence and possible video footage would be uploaded. Names would be altered to protect the innocent and those of a professional standing.

However…instead I stayed in my dressing gown all day, didn’t eat or drink a thing. Fell asleep on MiL’s bed at 3pm and woke up again at 7:30pm – drained and weak from the shits!

Karma – clearly a big fan of Christmas and all it entails, was very much laughing his ass off at me this year.


I even had an overnight pass out and a free room at a hotel in town so I didn’t have to shamble back to Grandma’s in a state.  I was going to help my friend who recently had a 40th birthday celebrate it, belatedly but in style and disgracefulness.

But No.

I had the shits instead.



Back home now.  Ready to see in the New Year with The Ludewig Posse tomorrow.  May 2013 bring peace, joy, happiness and possibly my being able to spend my birthday money on myself.

The DHW pictoral run down of 2012 will be in your face within the next few days.

Until then have a safe New Year whatever you may be up to.  May the force 9 gales and midnight hailstorms not keep you awake or blow the tiles off your roof!

And remember… don’t fuck with Karma, or that Mother will Noro-Virus your ass when you least expect it!

Ciao for now peeps




Undervalued and overloaded

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Name that tune:   “I’d like to drop my trousers to the Queen.  Every sensible child will know what this means” – Nowhere Fast, The Smiths

Póg mo thóin!!

This is no metaphor – this actually is me, showing my backside to Payroll, because there’s nothing I like better than getting underpaid by over 14 Teaching hours!  Meaning that for the last month at least, I seriously HAVE been doing my job for love, cos it sure as shit wasn’t for the money!

If only it WAS me! 

I did once stop the  traffic (in a good way) with my backside, on Bishop’s Stortford High Street when I bent down in a bright turquoise lycra miniskirt to pick up some dropped change. 

If I did that these days I’d still stop the traffic but only when the drivers crashed as they shielded their eyes in terror, or in fact literally stopped it as they ploughed into me like a great big steel buttcheeked Yorkshire wombat!