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That time I ‘met’ Bill S Preston esq.

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On Sunday I attended the For The Love Of Horror convention at Bowlers in Manchester. This was purely on the basis that several members of the original cast of ‘The Lost Boys’ were to be there too, including Kiefer Sutherland.  There was a whole host of other horror film actors too, some of whom I had even heard of.

Unwilling to pay the extra £80 for an autograph OR a photo with Kiefer (one or the other, 2 x £80 for both). Or, to be honest, even pay £40 for Alex Winter (Duuuuuude!) I was going to resort to stealth photography instead.

We were stiffed before we even got into the venue by two chancers in Hi-Vis vests asking for a fiver for parking.  I did say, “You know these pair have just got Poundland Hi-Vis and are out to make a buck right?” as my pal handed over a crisp blue one out the window. 

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What did I say Roy?

We had a good wander and accidentally ended up at a seance run by a ghost busting group.  I wasn’t into it for several reasons.  Mostly because despite many attempts at it, I have yet to be impressed by a Ouija board. I find it mostly just ideomotor effect. Also, I wasn’t convinced that there were many spirits to call out to in a hangar on the outskirts of Stretford.  It was also doubtful that anyone’s nan was likely to suddenly ‘come forward from the shadows’ in the 10 minutes we had left before we went to get a seat at the Alex Winter Q&A.

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We listened to the Q&A.  Not to be confused with Alex Winters who we have since discovered is a completely different person, who probably wasn’t even born when ‘Lost Boys’ was released.

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I’d watch a lot more of Cbeebies if Alex Winter presented it in character as Bill S Preston Esq.  He was the only one I would have recognised compared to the rest. In fairness the movie is like 32 years old. We, none of us, look like we did in 1987! (Probably just as well in my case).

 

 

 

 

 

 

I don’t think Jason Patric or Kiefer did a Q&A. Probably just as well, as all I could think of to ask were inappropriate questions about that time Julia Roberts was meant to marry Kiefer but ran off with Jason instead. 
B
man said I wasn’t allowed to ask Alex Winter anything about Bill & Ted 3 or Keanu Reeves, as that might seem rude. I wanted to ask him what number he was thinking of, but any Bill & Ted fan already knows the answer to that.

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Other people were not so bothered though and we got to hear that the Bill & Ted 3 film is finished. They were very tired making it, because they are now so much older and that they are hoping a trailer will drop for it next Spring, if not before.  It should come out in cinemas next August.  He also said that during the filming of Lost Boys, he was almost the Den Father, having to keep an eye on the two Coreys, who were the worst ones for high jinx on set!

He came across as a good guy and it was most excellent to see and hear him.

Bodacious!

We then went to get some lunch and ride the carousel outside. Quite surreal with all the cosplayers around.  I saw Brandon Lee from ‘The Crow’ having a cig next to a bin with Beetlejuice. Several Jason Vorhees eating burgers and then Michael Myers, Pennywise the clown, Annie Wilkes from ‘Misery’ and David from ‘Lost Boys’ all rode the carousel with us.

 

 

We then hit the Scare Maze.  

There was a fair bit of conflicting and confusing debate in the line as to who was or wasn’t going through the crawl space. I offered to give it a miss to stay with the girls. Then Emily offered to stay with them instead. But Allie wanted me to stay with her, but that meant Linda would be a lone crawler. We asked the queue dude if the crawl space met up with the rest of the maze and he said it did, so in the end Linda and I crawled and met the other 3 in the middle. It was only a short crawl, but properly an all fours situation, while strange hands grabbed at us in the dark.  The rest of it was basically us blundering about shrieking as we witnessed realistic torture set-ups (great prosthetics) and tried to avoid zombies, clowns and killer surgeons.  Allie had a bit of a meltdown in the hall of clowns.  One of them thoughtfully showed us the way out but we immediately ran into a knife wielding Michael Myers, which did not help calm her down. Bless her.  #Parentingfail

She possibly had some kind of PTSD flashback to that time I took her round a Halloween scare maze on our friends farm when she was younger. It was pretty scary to be fair and  possibly a bit too much for a four year old.

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The rest of the day was spent attempting to thwart the queue gestapo who marched up and down the lines barking “No pictures please unless you’ve paid” to which my friend (who’d got my digital camera on full  zoom) kept saying “Oh sorry, I forgot” then just went down a different line instead.

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Oddly, one of the highlights was watching Tim Cappello AKA the oiled up saxophone player from the movie. He was owning that outfit and that performance and claim to fame 32 years on and also came over as really genuine guy when he spoke a bit at the end.  Used to play with Tina Turner apparently. Made that choker from chain from Home Depot aswell.  Been wearing it ever since I reckon. Same leggings too by the look of it.  At first I thought it was a bit sad, but then thought good on him for milking it while he can.  Have to say, the line for his autograph doubled after he had done his performance of “I still believe”.

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Then

 

I managed to resist spending too much money in the traders hall even though who wouldn’t want a life sized automated doll of Regan from The Exorcist (£350) or a taxidermied mouse tied to a bed?  Besides I spent all my money on two slush puppies at the bar for Allie and her mate. Stiffed again at five English pounds a pop! I shit you not!

 

 

 

Kiefer proved very elusive, being the main attraction and all. We got nowhere near the Lost Boys Cave Set (or the Museum of Monsters and Madmen for that matter). He was hidden away like the crazy wife from Jane Eyre. Not even a whiff of him, never mind being able to corner him in a lift or broom cupboard somewhere.  Had to resort to bastardising other people’s photos from Facebook and a bit of comedy photoshop. I defy you not to chuckle a bit.

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A good day had by all, we didn’t get our throats slit by psychopaths disguised as horror franchise cosplayers (because let’s face it we had discussed the possibility of this scenario in the car on the way there).  I doubt No2 child will be coming with me into any more scare mazes. And based on her scaremaze reaction, our visit to the theatre to see Ghost Stories on my birthday might prove interesting!

I did have strange dreams about being on a bus with a zombie Kiefer Sutherland Sunday night myself though.

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They’re only noodles Michael

Bring on next year. Better start saving for taxidermy and slushies now.

Ciao Ciao MoFos

How to confuse an old bird

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So, on Friday I eventually got home from work after having to be rescued from a bus shelter on a council estate by my pal. Don’t ask! Fucking buses! Bloody 508 disappearing into a black hole somewhere between Leeds Headrow and my stop as usual.

So I got in, despondent and a bit hacked off, to find an Amazon parcel addressed to Kit Kit Kit.  Bemused I opened it to find this…

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I double checked my Amazon account to be sure that I hadn’t made an accidental purchase whilst under the influence. But no. Not guilty on this occasion. (Because let’s face it, we all have at some stage!)

Was someone trying to tell me they thought I was on old witch? Who could it be?  A disgruntled ex pupil still bearing a grudge since Year 6? My husband trying to be funny? My kids sharing their true feelings about their mother? A friend sending me a gift of love or alternatively, an unpleasant prank? The mafia sending a message 2019 style instead of a horses head to the pillow? Could it have been Rosemary, the telephone operator?

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Not being sure of its origins I kept it in the bag lest it be coated within with a toxic substance that might melt my face. Or some kind of ticking timebomb making my brain explode, like those Silver Shamrock pumpkin head masks from ‘Halloween 3’.

 

 

 

Yes. didn’t overthink it at all…

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It turns out to have been a Halloween love token from a very good friend who had wanted to send me a severed head, but thought it might freak me out too much so sent the mask instead. 

What could my overactive imagination possibly have made of that do you think?

I don’t have a huge number of friends, but the ones I do have are all awesome.  Mostly as fucked up and weird as me and that’s why I love them. But awesome nonetheless.

😀

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LOL

Next weekend I’m attending another horror film convention in Manchester so expect a full review of our antics at trying to trap Alex Winter in a lift or pin Kiefer Sutherland up against a toilet door.

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Noodles anyone?

BSBs and fear of fear

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I went to Manchester to see the Back Street Boys on Monday night. I’d like to say I was reliving my youth, but in honesty, I was a bit old for the BSB when they came out – already being around 21, I was a bit old for boy bands. Also, with it being the early 90s there’s a fair chance that I was very busy jumping around off my swede to hard house or jungle anyway.

This is what happens when you work part-time. You see things on Daytime TV and just happen to be up and not in work when tickets go on sale – next thing you know – you’re off to see The Back Street Boys and have to get a ‘Best of’ CD off ebay for Christmas so you can have a fair idea of some of their tracks other than the one about ‘Am I sexual’.

Met up with old raving buddy for a good catch up over dinner at Wahaca where we enjoyed some Mexican street food and almost broke the tech left on our table in order to rate our food (but not pay for it- no amount of punching buttons will let you do that apparently). Left feeling that our hunger was sated but our knowledge of the IT world was sorely lacking.  Dinosaur times!

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Me

 

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My kids

 

There were several hundred people in attendance at the gig who had a much clearer understanding of who they were going to see than we did. I had a vague awareness that there were five of them and one was called Kevin.  I was right! But not the one I thought it was.  We did actually know more than one track but despite needing to leave a bit early in order to ensure we got our trains home, we refused to leave until they did the one about ‘Am I sexual’  Was well worth going just for the resulting shaky phone footage of said tune with quality karaoke style singing in the background from myself.

I particularly like the way I look Pete Burns on this pic.

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My friend’s first time at the arena and about my 3rd visit since all that horrors of 2 years ago. This time though we left through THAT bit. It made me feel very uncomfortable indeed. The old hackles were right up.  I’d already spent a bit of reflective time stood looking at the little memorial area in Victoria Station while I’d been waiting for my friend earlier on.  Can’t help but think of my two girlies. Already going out to gigs themselves without me.
You can’t wrap them up in cotton wool and you have to let them go out and do fun stuff without fear, but bloody hell. Not knowing how to operate an app on a gadget in a restaurant is one kind of fear at my age, but I honestly think that having teenagers is scarier than when they were babies.

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There are a lot of messed up scary ass people out there -this is why the dead don’t scare me on all these ghosthunting adventures. It’s the living that frighten me more.

I do like to think that there is more good in the world than bad though, but it’s always the bad shit that dominates the news. 

Sometimes we just need to remind ourselves.

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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

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

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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!

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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.

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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.

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 Ciao Ciao local MoFos.

Alles Klar?

XX

Parenting 101 – out on a school night

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Last night, despite feeling unwell & being gruff as Kathy Beale & Phyllis Pearce after a Woodbine smoking contest, I took my eldest to Manchester to a gig. 
It was a band she had introduced me to at Boomtown  Fair in August.  ‘Dutty Moonshine’. Not sure how best to describe their music genre TBH. Electroswing/jazz/hiphop/bassy/grime, probably best covers all bases. 

After a mare of train journey there brought to you, not just by poor old Northern Fail but TransPenis (not very) Express.  Northern, in fact, was the better of the two. Not exactly running to time but far better than the upwards of 40minute delays on TP!  We abandoned ship at one point at Leeds and fought our way through the eleventy thousand people clamoring right up to the platform edge in their efforts to try and be the first aboard when a train finally did arrive. We ended up on a Northern train bound for Manchester Victoria heading back the way we had just come! FFS! But at least we were moving.

Met my sibs, who were several wines in at this stage after having been out for dinner already. Got to the venue about 45 minutes later than we’d hoped but it was fine. Got to see the support -ASkillz. Decent DJing times – and then the main event.  In the words of back in the day; “Check your bassbins I’m telling ya!”“Bass! how low can you go?”   Low, is the answer. Dirty dirty low!  Nice!  We danced and bounced and skanked with unsexy Jesus. Rho was pistol-whipped in the face by untethered dredlocks, my brother suffered a big toe injury (possibly caused by unsexy Jesus). My sister proved particularly inept at trying to hide the fact that she was buying booze for her 15-year-old niece.  I thought I might have thrown my back out during a particularly heavy bouncy sesh but it seems ok today.

It’s all a far cry from taking her to see stuff like Hi-5 or the dreaded Little Mix with her sister. Where has the time gone?  My babies aren’t babies anymore.  It doesn’t seem that long since we had to leave The Sooty Show at Scarborough Spa because she cried and said it was “too loud”. (Me & Bman were gutted – those tickets were a fiver!)  Now we’re out in Manchester on a school night getting sweaty and jumping about.

Quote of the night from my sister, on form as per, “Let’s get to the front and stroke them”. Also at the end, as we were leaving; “hold my bag” as she then ran down the street, dragging Rho with her after one of the band to get a selfie.

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Good times.

Bit mutton this morning if I’m honest. Worth it though.

XX

Just a regular Sunday being normal

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My friend wanted “a nice change to do something normal” so we drove to Manchester and paid £5 to sit in a shipping container in the pitch black whilst wearing headphones and listening to a stranger whispering at us. This was part of an immersive theatre experience called Seance .

We weren’t sure what to expect but did joke on the journey there that we might end up being shipped off to Madagascar by mistake with a giraffe, a lion, a hippo and a zebra.  This could have been an elaborate project by our respective husbands to get rid of us.  Lure them in with cheap tickets to get locked in a box in the middle of the street.

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It was quite entertaining but would have been more effective had there been more people present. There were only 3 people in the box at our ‘sitting’ and that took the edge off a bit for me.  Possibly because it was a Sunday or possibly because most normal people have no desire to sit in the dark with a bunch of strangers apropos of a having their minds fucked with.

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I think possibly we’ve spent too much time lurking about in dark basements and satanic mills by torchlight to get too affected by it, but I did enjoy it nonetheless.  Give it a whirl if you’re in Manchester St Anne’s Square.

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How tall are you?

We then had a pleasant lunch at the Cathedral Cafe before going on a mission to Hadfield on the way home. A local village for local people. And I swear I am not making this up, as we drove into the village I saw a woman crossing the road carrying a life-size fibreglass dog under her arm, like one of those ones you see outside the post office and you put money into its head for the spastics.  (Can you say spastic these days?  Probably not considering you can’t compliment anyone in this day and age in case you get YewTreed or Weinsteined 25 years down the line – fuck me you can’t even clap in case somebody somewhere is sensitive to noise. Jazz hands you have to do now to show appreciation – jazz hands FFS!).

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Not a supergeek fan or anything

 

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.

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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.

FFS!

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.

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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).

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I am your wife now Dave. I promise I won’t pee in your sink

Great night all round.

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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.

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Photoshop credits to Allie B

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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.

Pity.

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And now it’s time to return to work this week but not as we know it.

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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.

Xx