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Half Term Pt2

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Sweet dreams of Magic Mike Live (“Ooh young man”) and a cracking breakfast later and it was time to say goodbye to my sister and my friends, who were heading back up north.
I, however, was staying around in London to meet up with a school friend, not seen since we were about 13 or 14!

I don’t think we’ve changed a day.  Perhaps a bit more worldly wise but still essentially the same.


Amazing to catch up again with the friend I used to call Old Bean (and we can’t remember why).  Reminiscing about the variety performances we used to inflict upon our parents twice a year.  Dodgy dance routines and songs from The Kids from Fame.  Comedy skits lifted in their entirety from The Kenny Everett Show (all done in the best possible taste).  We even had merch!  Cajoling our relatives into buying an array of tat and cack, handmade or purchased from local thrift shops for the occasion. Marked up penny chews, that sort of thing.   Another reason I am glad that smartphones did not exist in the 1980s, as mercifully there are no photos or videos of these cringeworthy shows.


Then it was time to head further south to sunny Brighton to catch up with another friend (hopefully two) and attend a ghost investigation at the Old Police Cells.  Checked in to yet another hotel – the very welcoming and lovely Jury’s Inn.


I do love Brighton (“D’you know what I mean by that?”) and everything is so much more fun in the sun, and sunny it was.  Surprisingly so for February!  I was glad I’d listened to big Brew and left my ‘Shadwell’ parka at home.


Friday night we set the world to rights in Revolution and some other bar I forget the name of, where the bathrooms held the kind of graffiti that only Brighton could offer:-


2-4-1 cocktails, free shots, sampling a Brighton gin and waiting 50 minutes for microwaved popcorn shrimp and a basket of chips! Then off to bed in order to be up and at ’em for the next day.  Not having heard from our local friend we were resigned to the fact that we had been blown out, candle in the wind style.


Next day. a  few nice drinks and a fabulous vegan kebab from this place Hope and RuinTry one meat eaters you will love this – the joy of seitan – try it, try it, you will see.




While sampling the delights of the vegan kebab and after a last-ditch text invitation to join us.  Our, thus far, absent friend rocked up just as we were contemplating moving on! Bold as brass and as if butter wouldn’t melt.  I announced his arrival with an unladylike exclamation of “Fuck Me!!” followed by, “You are such a fucking cunt!”

Most pleasant catch-up and being shown to a brilliant shop, which we would never have found on our own. Snoopers Paradise
I almost bought a Jesus lamp and a set of knives with deer feet for handles but thought the better of it. Not least because I would have had to carry them around town for the rest of the day.




Our friend, the international man of mystery, possible MI5 agent and definite cunt, then went home to ignore our texts and hide from us for another 2 years.
I went back to the hotel to get a hoodie for the evening in case it was chilly in the police cells and headed back down the seafront to meet my friend and prepare for our ghost hunt (but not before I’d witnessed a lesbian fight in a bar).

Astonishing results on the table tipping, thanks to, let’s call him,’Dan’, who managed to get the table walking all the way out of the cell once the lights were off.


I am sure that this group were seasoned ghost hunt investigators, but may I suggest waiting for answers on ouija boards or whatever before assuming an answer on the basis of just one initial and then asking another 3 questions.

Another man, let’s call him, ‘Ricky’ might also benefit from a belt or trackies that fit, so we don’t get distracted by his butt crack.


At one stage the ouija board spelled out the words ‘Cunt’ and ‘Cock’, so perhaps the spirits were in evidence after all and are most intuitive.


Interesting and amusing night.

Next day we met up on yet another sunny southern morning and went for coffee and had an amazing sandwich from this place HellKitchen.  I chose an ‘Envy’ with less avocado and more tomato, from a most helpful and friendly man behind the counter.  It was the best sandwich I’ve had in a very long time. I’ve thought about it a lot since I got home. Probably had more of an effect on me than the hunks from Magic Mike if I’m honest.  Was so good I forgot to even take a photo of it, so now it exists only as a joyous few minutes of seafood based sandwich ecstasy in my memory.

Brighton, I will return.  If only for the sandwich, and if I’m really lucky, the Jesus lamp will still be there and the planets will align and my other friend will decide to come out of his hole.

And now I’m back in the family fold and about to go to work.  Reality bites and all that, but right now my reality is just fine as it goes.  All is as it should be and you can’t say fairer than that.

Ciao Ciao MoFos. Xx


Half Term Pt1

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I’ve had a little mini holiday this half term and it wasn’t by mistake.

Thursday I headed to London, not for free though, thanks to Grand Central train being cancelled and having to get a much later train with another company.  Bummer!

Got the tube to my destination.  I can do without the tube TBH but it doesn’t scare me like it does some people.  I like to use it when I am in London just to remind myself that I’m lucky enough not to have to use it every day for work.

I met up with my sis and my two friends who had managed to find each other in a pub on Drury Lane and we all checked into the Travelodge before getting ready for a pre-dinner drink, then dinner, before the main event – Magic Mike Live.

What. Was. I. Thinking?  Have I turned into a cliche of a woman pushing 50? Treading water desperately to hold onto youth, vitality, attraction? Worrying that ever-encroaching decrepitude and eventual death are not that far into the future?  Or do I just admire the art form of the sculptured male physique via the medium of dance?

You tell me.

I do know that we were pretty terrified at how close we were to the stage. And rightly so when the show began.  No spoilers for the ‘storyline’, but suffice to say it was a bit like ‘Cats’ but with buff shirtless men crawling around and mounting you when you were least expecting it.

Unicorn stamp on the way in, which I can only assume contained LSD because reality was surely altered when those lads came on stage.  Money of joy fell from the ceiling and away we went amid speculation about how those conversations went down with the families.

“Good news Mum, I got a job in the West End”

“Wow, amazing! Can you get tickets for me, your dad and your gran?”

“Erm, No I’m not sure that’s going to work Mum!”

See also, “What do you do for a living then love?”  “I catch sweaty tee shirts thrown to me by fit, hench, possibly homosexual men twice a night”





That’s not me BTW – just to clarify.

Much cackling & whooping all round and agreeing that the show probably wouldn’t work if it was the likes of our own husbands, brothers, male pals etc in the cast.  Much love to Big Brew, JC & The Boy but….no…

Remember ladies.  Channing Tatum is inside all of us…

And I’ll leave that video clip and that thought with you girls.