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We don’t need no thought control

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So my 12 year old daughter in Year 8 has come home with a letter (finally) to inform me that they will now be choosing their subject options for GCSE study, this year. Thus giving them 3 years to complete their GCSEs rather than the standard two that has worked perfectly well for many years.

I don’t want to sound like someone who is afraid of change. I’m not going to lie – I am, a bit – but to me this sounds like they are dumbing down our kids. Are we actually raising generations of children who are too daft to do the requisite amount of work to gain a successful grade in two years?

Now, I work in primary education so I wouldn’t like to comment out loud for fear of reprisal … Shhh, they’re watching, and now they’ll know that we know that they know that we know…




“I’ll just die if I don’t get this recipe”

… however. What comes next?  A-Levels taking 4 years? A regular degree taking 6 years?  15 years to become a doctor?

Sadly, a part of me thinks I may be right?  We’re raising dopey, spoiled, clueless kids. But I also despair of the education system.  Stop fucking about with it!  At my Childerbeast’s high school they have to take Religious Studies as an exam subject – and no, it’s not a church school.  A foreign language is no longer compulsory, which I disagree with totally aswell.

Common Sense. That’s what they need.  Not another lesson on Rama and Sita or the origins of Islam.  Spelling and grammar – Yes.  For the love of fuck get where, wear, were; there, their, they’re and yours and you’re correct and know your ours from your ares. But fuck trig and triple bracketed sodding equations, let’s do a SAT’s in Y6 on common sense.  I’ve already thought of some questions.

  It’s pissing down with rain as you leave for school.  Do you:

a)  put on the waterproof coat your parents spent good money on.

b) put on a hoodie.

c) put on a thin summer jacket and leave it unfastened.


 You’re unhappy that you feel like you are always in trouble at school.  Do you:-

a) continue to be a massive annoying bellend.

b) listen to advice given by teachers and parents and sort yourself out.

c) throw a book across the room and call someone a fat lezzer cunt.


 You keep getting codes for forgetting your PE kit/calculator/planner etc.  Do you:-

a) Double check you have everything when your mother asks if you’re ready for school.

b) Carry on regardless, blaming everyone but yourself.

c) Borrow your mates then not return the item so then they get a code.


I got a shed load more like it. I think it should totally be a thing.

Meanwhile we’ll plough on doing what the powers that be tell us we need to do to give our children, and the future of our world, the best educational start in life. We’ll make them choose at 13, the options that will help pave their way in their academic future.  Except we’ll narrow those options right down so that actually, they’re not really choosing at all.

That way they can all grow up to be Youtubers (because that’s what they all say they want to be when they grown up).  Meanwhile we’re all just another brick in the wall

Ciao tutti MoFos Xx

To my lovely girl (and 11 year olds across the nation)

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Tomorrow my youngest Childerbeast and baby of the family will start her end of KS2 SATs – including a grammar paper, with questions similar to which, a group of University graduates recently struggled to complete.   Not forgetting our Schools Minister, Nick Gibb, who does not know his subordinate conjunctions from his prepositions (yet it has not impeded his ability to get a highly paid job).  Also our Prime Minister recently refused to answer questions in parliament on what a modal verb was. Could he have? Should he have?

We do not know yet what marks will decide whether or not she is working at whatever someone somewhere has decided is ‘Age Related Expectation’.

Ultimately, I don’t care.


She can read. Write a great story. She can add, subtract, multiply and divide. She can tell the time and divide a cake or pizza into eighths. More importantly to me, she will leave primary school with a little clique of friends and even a bestie – something not that long ago I thought would never happen. (I just hope that doesn’t all go to the dogs).

Anything over and above that at this age is unnecessary.  



She has spent the weekend preparing for this annual farce by playing in the sun and eating ice lollies in the company of her family.   She knows the answer to 7×8 and how many degrees are in a straight line, so we’re all good here thank you.

I love you schmooboo cookie-pie.  

Best advice I can give… read the question. Read it again. Then do your best & try to spell everything right.  You are amazing, generous, kind, funny, brilliantly bonkers and a fine writer, more beautiful than you think and one of the most articulate people I know.

I look forward to looking through the papers to see what the tricksters who come up with the questions have cooked up this year. (#NorepeatofDavelyDaleCavesthanks)


Freaks come out at night (or at 10am in fact!) AKA a day out in Blackpool

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My No. 1 child did her SATs last week, including 2 level 6 maths papers.  Fingers crossed for decent results in July!


As a treat for working so hard, I arranged for 2 of her mates to come with us to Blackpool for the day on Saturday and didn’t we pick a cracking weekend for it?

I knew it was going to be a corker when we passed the fire station on the way to catch the train and saw 2 young, attractive, fireman sunbathing topless on the wall.


If that wasn’t good luck enough, there was also a dwarf waiting to catch the same train as us. 

Good omens indeed. 

Then just to prove the rule of the power of three – at Hebden Bridge a dozen young fit, sporty men on a stag-do boarded our carriage. 

Happy days.

I couldn’t have asked for a more well-behaved, profanity-free, intellectual bunch of young men to sit around us.  (Although I’m not sure that the one sat next to me would have been discussing his recent groin injury quite so openly , had he known that only one of my MP3 earphones was working.) 


The middle-aged Hen party that had got on, all pink and bunny-eared at Halifax; fuelled up on Lambrini; soon spied the opportunity to blow the dust off their nether regions and began the age-old mating ritual of laughing louder, cackling like witches and sending the bravest/most fertile/stupidest/drunkest/the one who drew the short (probably penis-shaped) straw, down the carriage to try and inveigle their way in with the stags.
The stags, being proud young men of clear intellect, good taste and being a good 25 years younger than the hens, remained polite yet uninterested.  The hens, sensing defeat, stumbled off the train at Preston, feather boas and underarm swoops akimbo, to seek older/drunker/more desperate prey.

I had forewarned my young charges that there would be worse sights to see once we got to Blackers.  I was not wrong (but more on THAT later).

The sun was blazing when we arrived.  Within 2 minutes we had decided to play a game of High-5ing one another whenever we saw a freak, weirdo, casualty or general oddbod. 

I won’t lie… I feared skin grafts to our palms may be required by the time we got home later that evening!

Holy Moley!   

“Hello is that the lunatic asylum?  I think some of your inmates have escaped.”

My favourite was probably ‘sunburnt, inappropriately dressed, heavily pregnant teenager’. Or possibly (and here’s 7 words that should never be heard in the same sentence)  ‘overweight, wig wearing, bra-less, wet T-shirt  Nanna’ on the log flume.  That one drew a collective “WOAH!!!” from the queue as we waited our turn on the RugRats River Rapids ride.  Syrups to the left, Lills south.

My eyes are still burning. 


I have to give massive credit to all the girls for being a total delight all day.  So polite & considerate.  Taking turns to be the one who had to sit on their own on a ride if there wasn’t room altogether.  Or being so kind to Thing2, who suffered silently all day with blistered feet, to the point that I ended up piggy-backing her for an hour because she was struggling to walk.  Even I managed to not voice aloud the words, “Should have worn different shoes… like I suggested… but you didn’t listen to.”  (I definitely said them in my head though.)


The day was everything I wanted it to be for them:- Fun, relaxing and a treat.  They ate nothing of any nutritional value all day.  Just because a Tango Ice Blast claims to be raspberry, does not, my friend, count as one of your 5 a day.  The same applies to strawberry candy floss or the artificial lemon juice you had on your pancakes.  I’m also pretty sure that anything this shade of blue is doing nothing for your vitamin intake.

I can feel a rush coming on

I can feel a rush coming on

I ended up being a glorified coat stand for most of the day, festooned with handbags and hoodies.  Stood around like a tin of paint while they went on rides and pretended like they were out on their own for the day.  That’s OK.  The grin on my girl’s face when she came off the Big One was worth the cost of the whole thing.

Too late to change your mind now.

Too late to change your mind now.

(It was at this point that I wished I had never ever seen Final Destination 3.)

Of course they made it back down unscathed and lived to ride many more hair-raising rides, though not as many as we’d have liked.  The day just ran away with us, as it is wont to do when you are having fun.

Best ride in a slipper ever!

Best ride in a slipper ever!

Bikini Bottom times

Bikini Bottom times

They're on there somewhere

They’re on there somewhere

Fearless three

Fearless three


No. 1 child obviously gets her fearlessness from her dad.  I didn’t go on a big wheel until I was 16 because I was too scared.  No. 2 child (despite being the gobbiest of the pair) must take after her mum, as she wouldn’t go on nearly as much as the others.  While they were riding the Avalanche, her and I were on the teacups.

Soggy bottoms (soggy everything!) after Spongebob's Splash Back

Soggy bottoms (soggy everything!) after Spongebob’s Splash Back

Not loving the idea of the Flying Machines.  Possibly not helped by my saying "You could totally fall out of these couldn't you?"

Not loving the idea of the Flying Machines. Possibly not helped by my saying “You could totally fall out of these couldn’t you?”

(BTW. How big does my hooter look in this pic?!)

Soon it was time for the park to close. Though I think they were missing a trick shutting at 6pm on a glorious sunny Saturday when nobody was anywhere near ready to go home.  Promises were made to revisit later in the year and off we went to catch the train home.  Emergency sugar rations were purchased in the form of fresh donuts, followed by a pancake tea in lieu of anything remotely savoury because they couldn’t all decide what they wanted or settle on anything they all liked!  I stuck with a cappuccino to fortify me for the inevitably testing train journey home, which lived up to every distasteful apprehensive expectation.
It was now almost 8pm and the casualties were out in full force down the North Pier end of town.  The High 5s were coming hard and fast as the inebriated; the scantily attired; the costumed and the desperate, shambled like the walking dead from cheap bar to nastier bar to “seriously? we’re going in here for real???”

Shenanigans indeed

Shenanigans indeed

We eventually boarded our train home with the cast of ‘Shameless’, ‘Benefit Street’ and ‘Skint’, rejoicing in the fact that despite not having had time to visit ‘Ripleys Believe it or Not’ museum of oddities, we could simply sit back on the train and let the freaks and horrors come to us.
No. 2 child said;
“But Mum there was a 2-headed cow in that museum I would have liked to have seen.” to which my response was; “Aw honey I’m pretty sure that there’s one on this train somewhere and she’s probably on her hen do.”

It stunk of faeces and sick and I came to understand why Bman calls the last train from Blackers on a weekend  ‘The Vomit Comet’ and why no conductor in their right mind would consider venturing down the train to check tickets.

We’ve all been a drunken shambles in our time, let’s not try to deny it, but how people think they can actually negotiate public transport in such a state or carry on the way they do while children are on the train is just disgusting.  I hasten to add that I’m not talking about young people here.  These were people in their late 40s and beyond.  The older they looked, the more badly behaved they seemed to become.


Educational times for my little troop.  If that journey doesn’t put them off alcohol over-indulgence then I really don’t know what will!

Fortunately I don’t think they were too traumatised by it and it may yet serve as a lesson learned.  All in all a fabulous day out and I’m so pleased they all enjoyed it and that it was a glorious sunny day to boot.










Welcome to Planet Fucktard – abandon hope all who enter here

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If I wasn’t pissed enough at living in a World where daily slaughter of the English language (by English people) isn’t enough to turn you grey.
Where it appears to be acceptable for children to be rude and disrespectful to adults (with full backing from their own parents in some cases.)  Where parents bemoan loudly and at length about their darling progeny getting told off too many times at school (for misbehaving or not working no less!)  Where schools are judged on the  test results of young learners who can’t be arsed to listen and then therefore make a pigs-ear of their exams.
Where a dog can eat off a child’s face or even kill it but the owner doesn’t get prosecuted
because it happened on private property FFS!
Where the headlines in the Metro yesterday screamed this at me!
Sex at Ten Which fills me with dread and fear and make me want to paper my childerbeast’s bedroom with pamphlets about Chlamydia.
I then see this on AOL news this evening
firearms for kids and see the quote “It was just one of those accidents” and I consider buying one myself so I can shoot myself in the head and escape the madness!

This is why the aliens fly right past us.  

Why bother to invade to wipe us out, War of the Worlds style.  They don’t have to.  We’re doing a pretty good job of it on our own!

Roll on the extinction and bring on the cockroaches – God knows –  some of them probably have better grammar skills & more common sense than us!

My fave ever Gary Larson cartoon

My fave ever Gary Larson cartoon

Flying trees Vs Flying Keys

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Well the working week is over and so far my favourite childerbeastisms are (in a Science paper):-

“What cause the body to move?” and the answer given was “Brian”

Who is this mysterious omnipotent Brian who controls our every move I wonder?

Apparently also, the life process that both birds and trees can do is, “fly and lay eggs”

Also, seals propel themselves through the sea with their “arms”.

I love kids.  They’re fab (except when they’re calling you a “div”, “mush”; falling out in lumps over playing tig;  bare-faced lying to you about something you blatantly saw them doing; or telling you to “shut up”).

Their naïveté  comforts me, especially when I was offered the memory cards of their photos from the Residential the other week, so we could use some for the Assembly slideshow.    Ouch. You might have wanted to delete some of those more incriminating ones first, “Love”! 

Although I did like this one of me clearly not in any mood for my close-up. (that’ll be the 2 late nights patrolling the halls then).

Back the hell away NOW!

Best question of the week was asked by a child with indigestion.

“Miss what would you do if you had some wicked acid?”


                    funny story………

                                             There was this one time at Park Hall Hills near Stoke….

But that’s a tale for another time………………………….