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So my tea was interrupted this evening with a phone call from a man with a very strong Indian accent, called Sam’, asking if he was speaking to “Mrs Brazier”


“Mrs Breever?”

“Guess again my friend”

“Mrs Brewer?”

“There it is bud…”

“I am calling from Techno Claims Madam this evening”

Techno Claims???


BANG!     Now he had my attention.

If there was some new potential money earner I could fill forms in for and wait for months to hear about, that might mean I could scrape some extra coinage in – then I’d be all over that little scheme.

Techno Claims you say?

My mind raced….

     …could all those years of (not entirely wasted) Friday and Saturday nights wedged up against the bass bins upstairs of a now demolished bus depot in downtown Longton (Stoke on Trent) be about to pay off?

Those Fridays I’d poured myself into lycra cycling shorts and hypercolour T- shirt (don’t deny you didn’t have one or want one).  Two-stepping around to the kind of music that made perfect sense for 48 hours over a long  weekend in a skanky sweatbox of a death trap, fire hazard of a warehouse; yet lacked  a certain je ne sais quoi when heard mid-week in the confines of your parents’ house. 

Could this mis-spent youth of mine be about to have me hit the big time cash-wise?

Spinal shrinkage compensation scheme?  Medical compo for all the burst blood vessels, chewed tongues, lost brain cells?  This time next year me and the Bman could be on a yacht in the Maldives, laughing into our daiquiris.


“Yes Madam we’re dealing with the mis-selling of PPI this evening please”



     The old bait & switch…

                        …thus, my hopes were dashed. 😦



post mostly comprising initials

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If there wasn’t enough reasons to avoid this series of books like the plague and avoid hurling oneself on the S&M, 3 for £10 at Morrison’s pseudoporn bandwagon.  I just read that JB may be getting involved in the film franchise.

Foxtrot Foxtrot Sierra!  Noooooooooooooooo!   He’s only about 17 years old!

In other news.  Last night I dreamt that I was back at work at The Farm* (that one is for my readers who have been there from Day 1) and that a massive apocalyptic thunder and lightning storm was raging around Leeds and blowing all through the office.  Bman says I was curled up in a ball under the covers – that may explain why.  Unless I was channelling one of the beetles I also dreamt about later on that I’d found in my pyabs!  (Just for the record, I only dreamt that – I don’t really have any wee beasties in my bush).

Analyse THAT futhermucker!


Got paid yesterday and most of it has been eaten by overdraft already.  Summer holidays are a killer for spending cash you don’t actually have! 

I have now given up hope of ever seeing any of the PPI  I have been promised since fecking February when I applied for a refund from RBS.  At this rate I’ll be RIP well before I even hear whether or not I am to expect any.  Meanwhile, the World and his dog keep telling me stories of retail therapeutic joy, spending their PPI refunds on domestic appliances, pampering days and must-have gadgets.

I shall take to my bed with my dressing gown over my clothes now and wallow in my own self-pity until it’s time for Strictly and Doctor Who. 😦

I shall leave you with this picture which amused me on FB and I stole because I’m all out of my own ideas this weekend.

aint that the truth

* AKA.   B.N.I Insurance Brokers