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Tag Archives: League of Gentlemen

Lines and Lines and Lines and Lines

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Gone are the days of half term days out with the offspring involving trips to Eureka or Blackpool Pleasure Beach.  Today we followed blue dot and I took youngest child to Hadfield, the home of Royston Vasey, for a right good treat ja? While the eldest child went to Pride in Bradford with her mates. Pride for the gays, lesbians, Bi’s, Tri’s, girls who like guys who like guys who like girls; Tails, no-tails, Cis, trans, pans, flans, mans, puns, bums, femmes, fams and wingdings symbols like when Prince changed his name presumably – because there’s fuck all else to be proud of about Bradford! There’s not a day goes by when I don’t mentally beat myself up about the fact that we live here and brought our children up here.  #sorrykids

gay pride.gif

“The room is starting to spin cos of the gayness” – Talledega Nights


stay safe out there kids

The Hadfield thing was purely because the youngest daughter shares my affinity for dark and twisted humour whilst the elder one ‘doesn’t get it’.
I’d promised her some time ago that I would take her to where League of Gentlemen was filmed.  Half-term seemed as good a time as ever. It would get us both out of the house for a start and she could earn maximum points for spending time with her mama.  I’m not sure what she expected, as there’s not a lot there, which I think was rather the point when it was chosen as the location.  No Babs Cabs merry-go-round or Dr Chinnery petting zoo. But there is a good pub and a very local shop with possibly not quite official merch for sale.
It has a very friendly local shopkeeper who doesn’t mind you touching the precious things or flicking through his fannymesto of photographs.  He also told us an amusing tale of the local old folk storming the barricades at the Post Office one time during filming.  How very rude dear. Restricting access to the Post Office on pension day. How very dare you!


Literally me

We ate our lunch on a bench, had a drink in the pub, almost bought a side table in the shape of an elephant but thought the better of it, then headed back into Manchester without any sign of a nose bleed of being kidnapped by Papa Lazarou.

Trains on the way to and back from Manchester were awash with leopard print and prosecco. The Spice Girls were in town for their comeback (yet again) tour at the Etihad.  The women we saw were fairly lively already by 3pm and the gig didn’t start until 7:30pm.  My advice to any train guards working the late shift tonight would be: lock yourself in the back cab and turn off the lights.  It’s gonna be messy out there come 11pm. These birds won’t look quite as glamorous 7 hours and 3 bottles of fizz later when their spangled wedge heels are in their hand and their hair extensions hanging off as they piss in a drain behind a Greggs singing ‘Spice Up Your Life’ while their pals live stream that shit on Facebook.



You know it girls!

In fairness, I somehow managed to get shit (my own no less) on my jeans this morning and I don’t even drink prosecco! Luckily oldest fruit of my loins spotted it before I left the house. Fooooooooks Saaaaaake! No idea how I managed that. Such a classy chick.


 Ciao Ciao local MoFos.

Alles Klar?



I’m not really sure what to call this one…

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An approximation of the Saturday morning conversation between myself and Bman today:-

Bman:  (checking his emails)   “It says here that priority must be given to disabled persons if they need seats.”

Me:   “What now?”

Bman:  “This thing I’m going to tonight”

Me:  “Oh your Berlin DJ disco thing”

Bman:  “Yes, It also says there are stairs up to the venue though”

Me:  “So how do the disabled ones get in then?”

Bman: “Dunno, do people in wheelchairs go to techno nights?”

Me:  “Why not? Everything’s inclusive now you know, you can’t discriminate”

Bman:   “It says here that there will be free lube and condoms in a basket in the corridor!”

Me:   “Wait, what now?  Where the hell is it you’re going again? Is it a sex party?”

Bman:  “No it’s not, It says is specifically isn’t

Me:   “If the email says ‘it specifically is not a sex party’ then I reckon it is a sex party”

Bman:  “No it’s not a sex party but it is a BYO.”

Me:  “I’ll bet it’s BYO!!  And it’s a sex party for disabled people and you’re going”

Bman: “FFS!”

Me:   “It’ll be like that time we went to Cedar Court and that other room was sectioned off with air beds and packs of wet wipes” (now giggling rather a lot and immediately messaging my friend about it).

Me:  “Look what Linda sent after I just told her about your German spaz sex party”



Bman:  “FFS! It’s not a bloody spaz sex party!! 

Me:  “Well some people must clearly be anticipating it if there’s to be a basket of complimentary lube and condoms”

Bman:  “I don’t know what I’m going to wear yet”

Me:  “I wouldn’t go too sexy if I were you” (then laughing maniacally) “You could end up bumfucked up against a wall in the corridor”

Bman:  “You’re going to put this on your blog aren’t you?”

Me:  “For sure”

Bman:  *SIGH*

I then spent 10 minutes scouring the internet for video clips of The League of Gentlemen’s Alvin Steele and wife Sunny and their monthly parties at the Windermere B&B.


He says I’m only jealous.   I’ve told him he genuinely will be the oldest swinger in town.


He is on his way for the bus into Leeds shortly, with a bottle of Buckfast in a carrier bag. I’ve told him you can’t take Bucky to a Berlin-themed German disabled sex fest techno rave but he won’t listen. I’ve told him if he comes home with his rectum in tatters he’ll only have himself to blame.

Meanwhile, Allie and I are loafing on the sofa, eating chocolate and watching ‘Swimming with Men’ on Netflix.

It’s a weekend of contrasts y’all!

Ciao Ciao Xx



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.





A little bit of happy after a day of crappy

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Bored of hearing my own voice this week already.  I may start teaching through the medium of sign language or dance.



Sixty Five sheets taken from my bank account today, as well as overpaying on my Simply Health plan through work.


Queried the £65, which was from some erroneous insurance I had no recollection of.  Turned out to be an automatic renewal of the holiday cover I took out last year for the family before we went to Orlando.

When questioned why it renewed automatically, I was told I would have been made aware of that at the set up stage (no) and that it was standard (no).  Not everyone goes on holiday every year, and even if you did, the parameters might change – destinations, level of cover required etc.

“Not to worry madam, we can cancel the policy without charge as you are within the cooling off period”


“Will you be wanting the £65 refunded?”

No love, you keep it, treat yourself for Easter…. Obviously I want a flippin’ refund you dopey git, that’s why I’m ringing up!


Then a 15 minute phone call to the Tax Office to set up as a sole trader.  Having to record voice messages so my voice can be used as my password in future – presumably for all the times I’m going to spend shooting the breeze on the phone to HMI! 

Missed a trick by using own normal voice.  Should have gone all Pam Doove from League of Gentlemen.


Just to confuse the system.


Simply Health – 3 emails to them querying over-payments from my wages on my monthly premium since January.  They finally get in touch to ask if I could message back to confirm that I’d like the over-payments to be reimbursed.

Again – Nah mate, ignore the previous 3 emails saying just that – you keep it and buy some cakes for the office.


Ebay – I’m returning a top.  Would I consider taking a five quid discount and keeping the item?  

No pal. I don’t like it. It’s shit and not worth £1.99.  I want the whole £12 back and you can throw the crappy thing on the fire where it belongs.

Fooooooks saaaake!  What is the matter with everyone?

On a happier note on the International Day of Happiness or whatever it’s meant to be – had a phone message left today from youngest daughter’s maths teacher.  Praising her all new positive attitude to lessons and marked improvement on her work.

Nice! (and if you know my girl and the joys we’ve had over maths, then you’ll appreciate the enormity of this lovely phone call.)

Ciao Ciao XX




A 2nd well spent weekend

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Went into Sadford yesterday to buy craft materials to make a Monster Book of Monsters (don’t ask).

At one point I thought I had wandered into a scene being filmed for a new series of ‘The League of Gentlemen’ when I found myself next to a most unconvincing transsexual/transgender (I’m not sure of the difference – sorry) in the line at Primark.
Make-up lesson 101 – lips look better with the colour filled in rather than just a lipline and crop leggings and Cuban heel ankle boots, my friend,  are probably best left for the younger generation.  Fair play to you though and good luck with the operation.  (I know there is an operation because I couldn’t help but overhear the very loud conversation you were having with the checkout lady about it!)

The rest of the time I felt as if I was in some impoverished East European gulag.  Way to make you feel both superior in appearance and health whilst simultaneously putting you on a humongous guilt trip for bringing up your children in such an area.

Silver linings – I got the materials I needed to make this bad boy for our Harry Potter Day of Magic at school.  My quidditch lesson plans won’t file themselves after all.



Didn’t manage to get much for the Bman’s birthday next month though. So far he wants tea out at Pizza Hut and a book about astronomy.  (Apparently he is 12 not 44).  I asked if he wanted some spokey-dokeys for his bike aswell.  He asked if he could invite a friend to the Pizza Hut tea, to which my response was “Aww honey, if you had any, that would be lovely”.


Last night it snowed, so today I embraced my inner 12 year old and me and my youngest went out and hit the slopes.

My eldest was busy being too cool for school in the park with her mates.  She was home later,  moaning that it hadn’t been fun and her mates had let her down a bit.  I said she should have come with her Mama.  We had so much damn fun that the local wildlife wanted in on the act.




At least she was outside at the weekend, which is more than she usually does.  She also got a bit of colour in her cheeks, which is nice.  To be honest so did I when I decided to try going down the slope backwards and my leggings started to come down!  Fear not, I won’t post any pics of THAT instead I’ll use a picture of what I think I looked like in my own head!


Never too old to be a jackass.  Just making up for those too cool for school teenage years of my own.