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The black rabbit comes to us all in the end

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Been cleaning today whilst singing along to Christmas music. I cranked up the volume for ‘Baby it’s cold outside‘ and stuck a finger up at the #MeToo brigade who have banned it from the airwaves for its allegedly ‘rapey’ undertones.  If the lass wanted to leave, she’d have gone home. She wanted to stay and have another drink and maybe a bit of the other. He wasn’t pinning her down underneath the Christmas Tree and trying to get his fingers in her tights FFS!

I then turned the music off to show some respect when the funeral cars for my recently deceased next door neighbour arrived. Poor bugger has been bed bound for I reckon about 2 years now. In his 80s bless him.  Lovely man.  Bman went round there recently and then came home saying he couldn’t think of anything to say to him and ended up coming out with, “try hang on in there til Christmas eh?”  FFS!

Don’t bother with all that black hearse and dark suits carry on when I snuff it (which could be any time now, in 2 weeks time I’ll be 47!)  Forty fucking Seven?  How?  Why do I still feel and act like a 17-year-old? – until I see my refelection then I just sigh. 

Just chuck me in a dumpster when I’m dead and have a party.  Bloody price of funerals is astronomical anyway.  I’ve never spent more than £50 on a coat in my life so no point blowing the budget on a wooden box I won’t even feel the benefit of.  Stick me in the composting bin with the cat shit and leaves and spend the real money on gin and Es.

Dumpster

 

Going to pay respects of a different kind tomorrow evening. A farewell send off for a colleague who has recently tunneled out of Auschwitz to begin a new life elsewhere.  I found out today that this is to be a double whammy of farewells and good lucks.

🙂

To all those that remain I’m just going to leave this here and say that when it says ‘corridor’, I read coop.  Save yourself MoFos. Save yourself!  There is life out there. It’s not as we know it, but it’s life…

into the light

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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. 

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“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.

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

 

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“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.

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Cocoon pods, fountain of youth and IN

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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.

Standard!

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Observe our concentration faces (and all hail Sexy Jesus)

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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!

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Pre parade PRU rave off

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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.

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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.

 

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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.

 

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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)

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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.

 

 

 

 

Procrastination is the thief of time

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Half term is almost over and I have achieved very little other than winning at being a lazy bastard and waiting for my chin to heal up, while I googled things like – “Can you damage your brain by banging your chin?”.  (Yes, apparently you can).  

We did have pancake day, which was a success mainly because Bman was home to be a top tosser.  Allie’s friend slept over and was also party to the pancake tea.  The next day was Valentines Day. There was no romantic meal out, or sex of any kind, but I did get lots of flowers and a shower curtain (don’t ask). Also a decent cooked tea and I got Bman a bottle of good gin, which is of course a gift designed for the two of us.

We went out en famille for Allie’s early birthday tea on Thursday to Pieminister.  Her choice. Not mine, although of course I was delighted at this choice.  I almost went for the double-pied ‘Tower of Power’ but thought it could be a pie too far in one sitting, so opted for a Mothership instead.

He is called Kevin and he is all mine

On Friday me and the Childerbeast did venture to Manc to have lunch with my bro and sis and the niecelings.  Good job it was payday as the offspring stiffed me for jackets, boots and other miscellaneous crap in Primark and Lush.  I only went in to get some work clothes, but didn’t get anything for myself other than a bra.  In fairness it was a good purchase for a fiver.  Harnesses the old lills rather nicely indeed. Crackin’ in fact.

I did manage to get myself a new swimsuit and rash vest for my upcoming new venture – teaching swimming after school two evenings a week. Yaaas! Getting paid for being in the water. Nice.

Channelling the old skool raver look here, albeit in lycra a couple of sizes larger than back in the day.

Today I had plans to get up and crack on with a half term’s worth of planning but have basically spent the day procrastinating.  I sorted my wardrobe. Sat in bed and finished my book.  Had a snooze, then got sucked into watching ‘The Guns of Navarone’.  Now I’m writing this and soon it will be teatime. It’s burger Saturday but I’m flying in the face of convention and having a fish finger butty instead – because that’s how I fucking roll MoFo!

Rave on!

sat

 

 

 

 

 

Fuck dry January. All hail Ginuary

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Well dry January lasted until Wednesday the 3rd when I went back to work.  I held off at least until I got home but was two gins in by 9pm.

FFS!

A short week indeed, but am already knackered and considering alternative career prospects.
I’m stuck though aren’t I?  I’ll end up like some kind of disillusioned, wizened, bitter old Yoda figure stamping library books in a corner and listening to KS1 reading about fucking Biff & Chip for the eleventy billionth time.. The children will remind me that I used to teach their parents and dad wants to know if I’m still a bitch.

I doubt by then I’ll have the energy…

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chin chin for gin Xx

Is it Halloween yet?

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So, how’s it going on the old positivity scale since my return to the coalface?

Well. Week 3 and I already feel like a shell of my summer holiday relaxed and calm self. A costume of a woman with a grimace of a smile dripping off my face at a rate of knots.  Nursery one minute, changing pants and the next I’m discussing the meaning of life (it’s 42 BTW) with Upper Keystage 2.  I have to check my diary at every changeover to check that I’m heading to the right class.

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Monies worth = out of me? Yes.  I think so.

The silver lining of this headwreck of a new role is that the extra wedge in my monthly pay means that I reckon I am good for paying for next year’s Griswold family jolly to WallyDisneyworld.  That’s if I’m not on a liver transplant waiting list from all the gin I may have to consume to get me through until then.

Meanwhile. On another topic.  Having had my IUD coil removed, my periods have started up again.  This is not good.  I’d forgotten how annoying they are and how much I want to eat chocolate in the lead up to all that.  This is playing havoc with my mission to shift 10kg of excess timber.  I may need to take up smoking again, or amphetamines or something.

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Pretty sure the Bman might overtake me on this weight loss gig as he’s been surviving on grout fumes and hard graft the past 2 weeks trying to finish off our new kitchen.  The kitchen we haven’t decided whether we like or not.  The worktop is already scratched.  The oven doesn’t match the rest. We’ve got a plumber coming out on Thursday to get to the bottom of the rank stench emanating from beneath the washing machine and the laminate floor still needs to be done and tiling to be finished.  He’s gone back to work this week for a rest!

I may blog some more in another 3 weeks if and when I can summon the energy.

Ciao for now dudes

Xx

It’s all about the fruit turban (& gin)

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Phrase of the day:  “Are your meringues soft inside?”

I attended a course today all about grammar, where we were taught some useful phrases.  None of which involved anything about teaching your grandmother to suck eggs.

I am still twitching a bit over some of the things we had to proof-read and check for incorrect use of apostrophes. 

**shudders**  (There’ll be a dozen typos in this post now, just you wait.)

Speaking of knowing how to have fun and needing to get a life…

I went out last Friday night.  Out out!  Like I didn’t even set off to go out until after 9pm and everything!

I know!

Hold the phone though, I’m not done.  As if that wasn’t thrilling enough,  I didn’t get back in until after 3a.m.

I know!

Rock & Roll eh?

Okay so it wasn’t exactly reminiscent of ‘The Hangover’.  There were no monkeys in denim waistcoats or tigers in the bathroom. I didn’t even have a hangover the next day. I was just very tired from being woken up at 8am.
I did enjoy it though. Just setting the World to rights over some skunk.  When I say skunk, I mean bottles of Becks, which smells the same as skunk (allegedly).  There may also have been a cheeky pint or two of Stowford Press and a clandestine packet of Scampi fries.  This girl still knows how to throw it down.

🙂

Phrase of the evening, which made me laugh hard and long in the street, was something along the lines of, “You know when there’s someone you could just drum the living daylight out of?”

Fair enough.

Important life decisions were made.  Pretty much that the future involves hats that look like turbans, possibly encompassing fake fruit, and/or taxidermied birds and gin (to drink – not on the hat, although that might be cool.  A gin-filled old lady turban with straw attachment.)  Oh and  mobility scooters (again, not on the hat)and aspiring to look like that old woman from ‘Benidorm’.

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I’m thinking of sacking it all off and opening a hat shop, which also sells a variety of gins.  It will have scooter parking outside and may even have a wall-mounted ashtray.
You can keep your skinny Minnie teen idols and Made in Chelsea girls.  I’d rather be an Elsie or a Rita any day.

Elsie%20Tanner%20maturing%20nicely       barbara_knox

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The future is bright.  The future is…. yellow.

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Pictures courtesy of google images

 

 

 

 

Horsehair, lard or otherwise – make mine a Bombay Saph

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I tuned into this programme last night as I awaited the latest instalment in the long running ‘Big Fat Gypsy…’ franchise on Channel 4:-
Food Unwrapped (mainly because it promised a segment on how gin is made.)

Vitamin G baby!

Vitamin G baby!

As I balked at the opening sequence of chicken carcasses on a production line, I prayed that Jimmy Doherty wasn’t going to ruin one my favourite tipples by revealing that it does in fact contain horsehair, extract of lard and badger droppings.

Fortunately nothing more than what I already knew was lurking within:- juniper berries, various fruits and spices added to a vodka base.   I doubt though that had I ever been partial to the odd donner kebab, that I would ever be partaking again!  Any fast food at all to be honest given that I recently also watched a show called Dirty Britain that showed a couple of likely Mancunians in their choice role of scraping 7 inches of fat from inside a sewage pipe with a shovel somewhere beneath the city centre, as further fresh fat flowed freely between their feet.

Yuk!

My favourite phrase of the Food Unwrapped show had to be when the man explaining how almost 75% of oysters contain the Noro Virus and how this is spread, used the beautiful words:-  “A mist of vomit in the air – it’s on the cat, on the couch, it’s everywhere”

“A mist of vomit.”   I barely kept my Doritos down!

I look forward, almost too excitedly to Thursday night when I can watch this beaut:- Confessions of an alien abductee, made all the more delicious because these are British people, not crazy Americans who live in a trailer park.

How tempted am I to get fucked up on gin and call that Abductee helpline because you know that number is going to get a shitload more calls after Thursday.

After the Alien Abduction

 

pictures from google images