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Tag Archives: Scarborough

Goodbye and adieu

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On Saturday I went to Reighton, near Scarborough, on an exceedingly busy train full of York race-goers, to visit my oldest friend before she emigrates to Australia.

Our parents were (and still are) friends, so I have always known her.  For years now she has lived in London so we’ve only ever really hooked up on joint visits back to Scarborough or when I have managed to drag myself darn sarf.

Tomorrow she and her youngest child are leaving for a new life in the antipodes. For a brand new golden gaytime if you will.  (Well worth the 23 hour journey to Oz just to be able to ask the ice cream man for a Golden Gaytime if I’m honest).


One of those rare friends that you don’t always see. That you don’t speak to or text all the time, but when you meet up it’s like you only saw each other an hour ago.  (If you have any of those friends, love them, cherish them and keep that shit up y’all!)


Because of her, I have an eclectic taste in music – she introduced me to rock in the 80’s whilst she also used to sing along with me to hip hop and house music.
We still laugh about buying ‘
brown drops’ in the local shop. About fighting over the velvet red riding hood cloak at nursery school (I bought her one as a leaving gift which I have insisted she wears on the plane all the way to Melbourne – I need pictures as evidence BTW.)   The sole kitten of one of her cats is our cat Pepper – fed by her every 2 hours when the mother was still at the vets recovering from an emergency C-section.

It was her who was with me – doubled up and almost weeing with laughter – when the Bman slipped on dogshit during a water fight in the street and slid underneath a parked car in our teens.  The very thought of it still makes me chuckle.
RaRa skirts and connies, pineapple hairdo’s, wearing socks with kitten heel shoes, sneaking peeks at her dad’s 1970s porn mag collection at Hampton Road (that’s right Mother). Making lists on sleepovers of which boys we liked and sharing a love of Matt Dillon, Keifer Sutherland and the 2-Coreys and films like ‘
The Outsiders’.

Ever grateful for her skinny arms being able to slide up inside the fag machine in the arcade on Scarborough seafront to steal me a pack of Regal diddies and ever grateful for being the most glamorous bridesmeaid ever, and I am still sorry for not asking you in the first place (I just thought you wouldn’t want to get all Shirley Girlied up).

I am so proud of her for saving up for the past 2 years to fulfill her dream of moving to Oz with her man.  Good luck Maverick Matchstick Mekon and look after yourself and enjoy your new adventures.  

Now I just need to save up to come out and annoy you.





Boro en famille

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Two weekends in a row with the fam.  Boro with my mum,  sister and my brother from another mother and the niecelings.  This time in (actual) sunny Scarbados. Like actual, put some suncream on the kids, weather.
Good times seeing rellies and old friends; eating chips; drinking cider at Seafest and telling off idiots who were feeding the gulls.
However 2 days of beach times, carousing and supporting my Aunty’s book launch – sounds fancier than it was (Turquoise Patch by Sue Hardy, go buy it) have meant though that my gimpo leg is still strapped up and I’ve spent the last 2 days laid up, resting it and feeling elderly.


I was overtaken by a dwarf at Leeds station – True story!

Ch ch changes?

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*Well I would have liked to post comedy snaps of the New Year’s Day dip from Scarborough.  Fancy dress clad brave insane people running into the sea to see in the New Year.  I can’t though, because despite every website I checked, saying that the dip was at 1pm (including the one where you register to take part).  It was all over by then because they did it too early.  I seem to recall this happening a few years ago on Boxing Day for the raft race.

Sort it out Scarborough!
God knows, there’s precious little going on there these days now that you’ve let everything go to wrack and ruin.  Don’t anger the visitors who do make the effort to still give you their custom by making them miss the fun things that you do put on.  Only having one nightclub these days, is also just shooting yourself in the foot if you want to entice the summer crowd, especially when only the locals and closet gay community know where it is!

This place has gone to the dogs old bean

This place has gone to the dogs old bean

Meanwhile, 2015 begins with us having no car after our M62 adventure and ride home (yet again) in a breakdown recovery truck. Cost of fixing the car was prohibitive so it looks like we are on the hunt for a new vehicle again.

Will 2015 fare me any better?  Will anything change for the good?  Will we ever move house?  Will I ever have to stop reminding my childerbeast to use their manners and not try to wind one another up at every opportunity?  As it stands both of them are barred from my brother in law’s wedding reception in August until they learn to toe the dignified line in public!
Will I ever lose any weight? (possibly).  Will I finally get around to having the mole, that I hate, removed? (probably not).  Will I ever get a real job? (unlikely).  Will I ever feel truly comfortable anywhere other than my own home when nobody is in?*  Only the next 365 days will tell I suppose.

*What is that all about?  Always feeling like an outsider – but not in a young, fun, sexy way like these guys:-


(BTW. What is with this picture?  Is Patrick Swayze a giant or is Emilio Estevez a midget?)

It’s all about the fruit turban (& gin)

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Phrase of the day:  “Are your meringues soft inside?”

I attended a course today all about grammar, where we were taught some useful phrases.  None of which involved anything about teaching your grandmother to suck eggs.

I am still twitching a bit over some of the things we had to proof-read and check for incorrect use of apostrophes. 

**shudders**  (There’ll be a dozen typos in this post now, just you wait.)

Speaking of knowing how to have fun and needing to get a life…

I went out last Friday night.  Out out!  Like I didn’t even set off to go out until after 9pm and everything!

I know!

Hold the phone though, I’m not done.  As if that wasn’t thrilling enough,  I didn’t get back in until after 3a.m.

I know!

Rock & Roll eh?

Okay so it wasn’t exactly reminiscent of ‘The Hangover’.  There were no monkeys in denim waistcoats or tigers in the bathroom. I didn’t even have a hangover the next day. I was just very tired from being woken up at 8am.
I did enjoy it though. Just setting the World to rights over some skunk.  When I say skunk, I mean bottles of Becks, which smells the same as skunk (allegedly).  There may also have been a cheeky pint or two of Stowford Press and a clandestine packet of Scampi fries.  This girl still knows how to throw it down.


Phrase of the evening, which made me laugh hard and long in the street, was something along the lines of, “You know when there’s someone you could just drum the living daylight out of?”

Fair enough.

Important life decisions were made.  Pretty much that the future involves hats that look like turbans, possibly encompassing fake fruit, and/or taxidermied birds and gin (to drink – not on the hat, although that might be cool.  A gin-filled old lady turban with straw attachment.)  Oh and  mobility scooters (again, not on the hat)and aspiring to look like that old woman from ‘Benidorm’.


I’m thinking of sacking it all off and opening a hat shop, which also sells a variety of gins.  It will have scooter parking outside and may even have a wall-mounted ashtray.
You can keep your skinny Minnie teen idols and Made in Chelsea girls.  I’d rather be an Elsie or a Rita any day.

Elsie%20Tanner%20maturing%20nicely       barbara_knox










The future is bright.  The future is…. yellow.



Pictures courtesy of google images





Weekend plans and a brief flirtation with modelling

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The Bear starts her SAT’s in 12 days time.  She’s sitting extra papers to try and get a Level 6!  To be fair I’d be happy if mine leave Primary with the Level 4 they are meant to, but if they can up their game and go higher, then more power to ’em!

Just booked Blackpool Pleasure Beach wristbands and tickets for Ripleys for her and 2 mates (and my youngest) for the weekend when they have finished the exams.  Just to let their hair down and do a bit of shrieking and eating lard all day, as a treat for working so damn hard this school year. Then they will all sleep over at our house in the evening (and Ma B will be here too, before she goes to the airport on her jollies the next morning!)

I can feel a migraine coming on already just thinking about it.


Going to Boro this weekend to see Ma B for her birthday despite it clashing with the heats for the ‘Face of Bradford Kirkgate Centre’ catwalk search for a model show that mine were asked to take part in. (We were chased through the shopping centre a few weeks ago by scouts who spotted The Bear – then Al got roped in aswell).

Flattering indeed, although of course I am biased and think my girls are beautiful (which they are – and clever to boot!)  However  I can always rely on my bezzy to put things in perspective and bring us down to earth.  In her own words, (more or less):-

“To be fair babe, you were in Bradford Kirkgate – they’d have grabbed any kid with eyes pointing in the right direction, who wasn’t dragging their knuckles along the ground.”

She has a point.

WELCOME TO BRADFORD - the barren retail tundra of West Yorkshire

WELCOME TO BRADFORD – the barren retail tundra of West Yorkshire

 picture courtesy of google images

I asked the girls if they would rather stay here and attend the heats and the general response was along the lines of poking themselves in the eye with something sharp, rather than be forever known as, The Face of Bradford.

They also have a point.  Fair play to them for having their feet on the ground (even if their faces are usually glued to the ipad!)





If there are typos in this it’s not cos I am a spaz it’s cos I’m a tad tipsy (& mad as a box of hair apparently)

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Movie Quote of the Day:  (so OK it’s a TV show quote)  “It’s like I hit an oil patch at 35 and now I’m just skidding towards the grave darling” – Absolutely Fabulous

What the hell have I been doing for 2 weeks? 

I hadn’t realised my last post was on March 1st. 

I am still alive, (barely).  Well – bodily I am still here but I think spiritually and mentally I am somewhere in an alternate universe, riding a pink unicorn and eating a coconut glitter candyfloss bigger than my own head!


Nurse Ratchett – my meds if you please!



Enjoyed a good weekend last weekend in the Boro.  I had a most pleasant Saturday afternoon drifting aimlessly round the Motherland, people-watching with my eldest.
I almost bought a taxidermied albino rabbit with wings but decided that as we were travelling by rail, I couldn’t justify carrying it home as well as mine and the childerbeast’s bags.  We are also trying the de-clutter the house in our (so far fruitless) attempt to move, and I am pretty sure that taxidermied chimera probably comes under the heading of ‘clutter’.
I wanted to take a photo of it in the store, as it was a sight to behold,  but I was afraid of the 98 year old chain-smoking lady behind the counter and her entourage of henchmen.

Still, Mother’s Day is approaching so you never know… (Second time Around, on Victoria Road)

Bman and I then spent Saturday evening with some pals in their hidden-away house in the woods in the middle of nowhere.  I couldn’t even tell you where it was.  I just know that we had to follow a breadcrumb trail to get there and when we did it was all made of gingerbread and candycanes and there was no WiFi or mobile network and they had an over-sexed dog!  (Note to self: do not get an all fours to try to retrieve a pop bottle lid from under the couch because that, my friend, is asking for it!)
They also had sloe gin and rhubarb wine and great tunes though (and I’d gone old school and taken a bottle of Martini Rosso and some lemonade) so we were all good.

   Truth be told, some of us were probably a little too ‘good’…  I turned in just after 2am after Bman got lairy and threw a fag packet in my eye and only apologised when his mates told him he should. Then he started knocking lamps over with his flamboyant dance moves, so I figured I’d be safer in bed at the other side of the house.
After about 10 minutes he came lumbering into the room, switching the big light on. Great big booming voice, drunkenly telling me I had to make sure to turn off the electric blanket (which natch, I had already done… and unplugged).  He then caught his foot on the bed leg and fell on top of me, laid there laughing and patting my face whilst telling me he loved me for 5 minutes before lumbering back down stairs again to join his mates.

For goodness sake!


When I got up at about 0930 and went downstairs, him and V were still up, having never gone to bed!  They were having an in-depth conversation about whether Meatloaf had ever worn crotchless fishnets and whether or not V’s dog looked like Gail Tilsley!    This, alone, convinced me I had made the right choice about leaving them to it and going to bed when I did.

Anyway, after the great weekend, I have had a strange working week.  I have felt physically dizzy at times, like I was on a roundabout and couldn’t get off.   On occasion I’ve felt like I had to hold on to something for support.  I’ve also had major terrors about going to work.  Hyperventilation times about teaching.  Think I managed to get away with it.  Outwardly showing no fear and seemingly being my usual businesslike self.  In my head though I felt like that chick from ‘The Host’ (great book, shit movie).  Screaming to get out.  All the sorts of things that have professional people coming round and measuring you up for the old extra-long-sleeeved jacket, while you sit in the corner rocking – like Arthur Fowler after he stole the ‘christmas money’ for Michelle & Lofty’s  aborted wedding.


It’s all gone Pete Tong Pauline

I feel so much more human today but I’m not convinced that’s not just because it’s the weekend again and I’ve been on a cleaning spree whilst listening to Prince Fatty and Jamiroquai (and treated myself to a new shower curtain – cos that’s how I fuckin’ roll on a Saturday!). 


I figure that if I can just hold onto enough sanity to get me through the next 8 years when the childerbeast will be almost done with school and I’ll be 50. It could be time to bail on the real world and just go and live in the rainforest somewhere, or hit the open road in a refurbished ambulance or something.  As long as there’s money for gin and something to play tunes on I think we’ll be reet.

and then I went out, and it was dark and everything

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Bugger me I’ve only gone and made it to 42!  The answer to the meaning of life and everything!

I won’t lie, there have been a few times I didn’t think I would make it this far, and, more times than not lately, when I have felt and acted twice that age.  However, for a few hours on Saturday (once I had stopped myself nodding off in front of the ‘Strictly’ final and made an effort to Shirley myself up) I was 22 years younger again.  At an Old Skool rave night at the scene of the one I attended on my 20th birthday back when Old Skool was well, erm, not old I guess.

There were many faces there who were also there last time.  There were of course, just as many who were not!  This time around it was slightly more sophisticated.  There were less glowsticks and luminous fishing lures in evidence and not as many bobble hats.  The hotpant, however, appeared to still be doing the rounds.  By ’rounds’ I mean, literally.  Some bottoms are a lot rounder than they once were and the hotpant is not a friend to everybody!  Not at this age anyway!

Would it also be mean and unfestive to disapprove of anyone younger than 36 attending an Old Skool reunion event?  I can’t say I was entirely comfortable watching the dance-round-your-bag brigade, 20 years younger than me making moves to the likes of Asha, ‘JJ Tribute’ or Wink’s ‘Higher State of Consciousness’.

There were a couple of recreational pharmaceutical casualties but we managed to avoid making any eye contact with the gurner posse.  Could not help but laugh at the botox babes who couldn’t have gurned even if they wanted to.  They looked as though they were having a hard time articulating their drink order at the bar to be honest!
Also enjoyed the shriekers.  “
Arggghhhhh I haven’t seen you in ages babe”  etc etc… like every time they saw   a.. n.. y.. b.. o.. d.. y……
OMG!  Calm down love!

My favourite part of the evening had to be seeing what appeared to be the last remnants of a taxi rank workers Christmas party storming out of the venue in cracker party hats shouting: “Don’t go in there it’s fucking wank.  Wank Wank, Wank I tell you!”  Such a glowing review only made me want to go and investigate further.  To be fair, I wouldn’t have gone as far as ‘wank’, but it was little on the dire side initially.  Once the over 40s club had livened up and loosened up and the Sanatogen had kicked in though, it started to fill up and bounce a little more.

All in all, I was glad I hadn’t fallen asleep in front of ‘Strictly’.  There were faces I was happy to see, some that I missed and some I’d rather not have ever seen again, but I had a good time.  I stayed out until 0130 and could have stayed longer if my partner in crime had wanted to.
I had a lot of laughs and more importantly,  me and Miss Sunshine looked great.

Job done!

Now I am going to undo all the good work I’ve done over the past couple of months and enjoy some drinks and sweet-based treats and enjoy the rest of Christmas and I hope you all do too.

Ciao for now peeps Xxx

Happy Birthday to me

Happy Birthday to me

You got anything dark & bassy?

You got anything dark & bassy?

Old skool pals

Old skool pals