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Tag Archives: Scarborough

MSGs, sea air and hair

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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.


Happy Valentine Day to me

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.


The smoothness won’t last

 Ciao Ciao Xx




Big fish in a small pond

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When you work in a pool but you feel like Daryl Hannah in Splash or one of those dolphins at Zoo & MarineLand in Scarborough in 1979 in an inadequately sized tank.

Could do with being out of my depth and spreading out a bit.  Might have to venture to Pudsey Baths in half term which has a 3m deep end (but I’d also quite like to steer clear of chlorine for a week).

In other World news

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Meanwhile, as Kanye forms a disturbing bromance in the Oval Office with Trump; storms ravage the world; Patisserie Valerie goes tits up and western civilization skids at alarming speed towards certain oblivion (mostly because of the prospect of no more fancy cakes). This terrifying incident unfolded in my old hometown ..

Stay safe kids. Stay safe


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