I recently posted on ArseBook about how much it had saddened me that eldest Childerbeast had lured her friend round for tea on the basis of being able to have a pot noodle.
I would like it noted for the record that we do not habitually eat such things. I am not known for my culinary prowess, I won’t lie. But I can manage a lasagne or other pasta-based meals or heat up a pie or whatever. The children like my jam tarts and my mushroom and stilton pate has become something of a Christmas tradition. Seemingly, my daughter’s pal is not allowed to have such a thing as a Pot Noodle, so had to come to the wrong side of 8-Mile to indulge in such an illicit substance.
I used to quite enjoy a Pot Noodle but now I can take them or leave them (preferably leave them). I was at work when said friend came round, but apparently, the verdict was “I don’t think I’ll be having another one anytime soon”. So perhaps all was not lost and a learning curve was steered. Maybe this could become a thing. Allowing the youth to try out forbidden items in the hope of putting them off. Like me pointing out Ketamine casualties to my girls at Boomtown with the stark warning of “Don’t be THAT girl”
As I posted on FB ‘next week…glue sniffing’
The Bman and I went to Scarborough for the day last week on one of his days off. A bit of an impromptu visit. Can’t remember the last time I went TBH. The fresh salty air and compulsory fish & chip lunch were most pleasant and the magic words from Bman (clearly drunk on sea air) of “Do you want owt?” when I made him look in the window of Shipton’s the Jewellers came as a welcome surprise, which I immediately took advantage of.
It was a little depressing seeing lots of places gone to the dogs or looking beyond jaded. When people can go abroad for the same price as a family holiday on the English seaside, but where they can be guaranteed hot sunshine, it’s not surprising that places go to rack and ruin. Such a shame. Those days of Victorians flocking there to take the waters and even the heady days of the 70s and 80’s – even the 90’s, have long gone. There’s only one nightclub in town these days and tourists would be hard pushed to find it.
On the way back to the station we did a double-take as a familiar face passed us as we were crossing the road – they also did a double-take at us. “Was that…?” / “I think it was you know…”
And that was a bit depressing. Someone from an old friendship group (who will remain nameless) who looked bloody terrible. Black eye, dodgy muzzie, shambling to the dole office with a sense of purpose and looking about 20 years older than us. I once had an ill-advised crush on this person, which resulted in a one-time drunken pash. The state of him the other day I was glad it had gone no further. Sliding Doors man. How do people end up on such a path? There but for the grace of etc etc…
Meanwhile, I got my crispy chlorinated weave trimmed today and my hairdresser deserves a medal for tackling that mammoth task without gardening gloves and shears.
Snaps to her for making something sleek out of my usual surfer’s seaweedy nest.
Ciao Ciao Xx