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Stay Alert. Do things. (Insert further vagueness here)

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I’ve waited until after 7pm tonight to write another post as I wanted to be able to mention our glorious leader’s address to the nation from earlier tonight.

If I had a clearer idea of what he actually said, I’d be in a better position to comment.

In the meantime, I’m thinking of sketching out a road map of a to-do list. Once I have had further meetings with other people with no real idea, and then maybe we’ll think about possibly doing something… but all that will be conditional of course.  Conditional on the collective common sense and thoughtfulness of the general UK public of course.


We’re fucked!

But you know. We’ll inexplicably spaff (to use a Bojo turn of phrase) money to alter the red-lettered Stay Home slogan to a lovely soothing shade of green saying Stay Alert.  Alert?  Fuck me! I’ve been ready to Eric Cantona kick anyone who looks even remotely like coming too close to me or my family for the last 8 weeks. How much more alert do you want me to be?  We won’t give Scotland and Wales a heads up on that slogan change either. Just let them see it on Twitter in the morning.  They’ll be fine about that.
Oh and If you can’t work from home then you should go to work now. Unless you can’t of course, in which case you should still stay at home. But from Wednesday everyone will be allowed to take “more, if not unlimited exercise”.  So is it more? Or is it unlimited?  There’s quite the difference.

Enough with the mixed messages Doris.  If the referendum taught us anything, it was that the British public need to be in absolute full command of the facts before being allowed to make any form of decision.



In other news, Bman decided to attempt to re-create the okonomiyaki for dinner that we saw Paul Hollywood making on his Eating Japan show last week. It was alright considering we don’t have a griddle and half of the ingredients were missing (and I didn’t want the meat element in it anyway).  Sunday dinner improv lockdown style.
Think after last week’s Pieminister recipe Courgette and Chickpea Pie that I made, the Childerbeast will surely welcome the return of the actual Sunday Dinner with happy faces and cutlery at the ready.  Bman has just watched Ed Stafford’s naked and alone programme (presumably to study and get tips for when society eventually breaks down completely). Geezer caught and cooked a skunk! Childerbeast will be begging him to make Japanese cabbage and noodle pancakes again if he tries to re-create that one!

Bon appetit

You are as, as always, a moist antelope.

Stay safe. Stay alert. Rouge your knees. Roll your stockings down.

And all that jazz.





Can we play a different game now please?

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I didn’t end up joining in with the shed rave on Friday. I took to my bed at 3pm to sleep, got up when Bman had made tea, looked at it (chips and beans) and immediately felt ill and retreated back to bed where I remained for the rest of the night.

Since then I have indeed been on (I pinched this phrase) ‘an emotional coronacoaster’.  Up one moment – dancing around in the shed amongst the lasers. Down the next – taking to the sanctuary of my duvet. Then on the non-descript flat part of this crazy ride, where you catch your breath and try to take stock before the next super-fast high or belly churning drop.

“we’re all in the same boat” is a phrase I keep hearing. In fact, I have used it myself, early doors in this situation. We’re not though, are we?  I saw something on Fb that said we are all in the same storm. That is a much better turn of phrase.  Same shitstorm different boats.  Some people are cruising (literally in some cases, trapped aboard floating germ boxes on the high seas).  Some are on fancy yachts like a Duran Duran video from the 1980s. I, however, feel a bit like we are in a 2 man inflatable kayak (that I wouldn’t let Bman buy from Aldi last year). Except there are 4 of us and it’s starting to deflate.


It’s fine. Everything is fine.

Yet I appreciate that some people are worse off still. Smaller boats. Or on a door like Rose & Jack in Titanic. Or spiderman armbands, or no flotation devices whatsoever.  Yes. We are most definitely all NOT in the same boat. Some are paddling a bit more manically while others punt along leisurely, in fact, why not have a fucking party in your garden and get pissed like this is one big jolly boys holiday.

I have to say I feel a bit like the last 6 months have been like that scene in ‘Clash of the Titans’where the gods are playing with Perseus, setting him up for his life.


Let’s see how this lot deal with what I can throw at them

Except in this version they are playing a messed up game of Exploding Kittens (if you know, you know):- probably on bloody Zoom as well.  “Aphrodite, we can see you but can’t hear you. Press the button. No the other button!”. 


“I have 2 cattermelon cards – Right, let’s suspend this asshole from his job”

“I have a Taco Cat” – let’s see how long he can keep that shit from his missus

“But I have a Diffuse card – I’ll make sure he has been on full pay while suspended”

“Ahah, I have a Nope card – we’ll get him sacked just before Christmas”

“Another Diffuse card – let’s have his wonderful friends raise some cash for him online”

“Boom. Hairy Potato Cat card – we’ll reduce him to his lowest ebb in years”

“Nope card – back at you – let’s give him a job with an airline”

“Nice move. Let’s all go have a brew and a sandwich before we resume play”

“Shuffle cards – all pick a new card”

“Boom! Attack card – I see your return to normality and raise you a global pandemic”

“Fuck me Zeus you are such a cunt! Anyway, I have a full hand of Rainbow Ralphing Cats so I will have the lovely new Chancellor sort out monetary respite for all – happy days.”

“Double Attack, let’s give this lad’s mother a stroke and kill off his uncle with cancer  in the same week”

“WTF is wrong with you Zeus?”

“Diffuse – it’s not much but let them play the ‘at least we all have our health’ card in an attempt to find a positive.

“Exploding Kitten Motherfucker! That financial help shit – yeah well it’s not actually for everybody. Especially not them.  He hasn’t worked at the new job long enough to qualify and let’s chuck in a rejection for eligibility for the self-employment grant that she thought she was going to get and see how they deal with that”

“We’re not playing anymore Zeus – you’re an asshole. Fuck you man, we’re playing Bananagrams instead”

“They’re fine look, she’s all togged up in the garden her wedding dress.”


Miss Haversham times

“You know that that behaviour isn’t normal right? 

“It’s fine. Everything is fine”

“Fuck off Zeus – you’re a dick!”


Meanwhile, Bman has travelled to Hull today for his uncle’s funeral. I have asked him to try and not say the word Eulogy as he kept getting it wrong.  This morning he said “Yule log” “Hippodrome” and “Epidural” I have suggested that if he does need to use the word at all, he should say “Speech” instead just be on the safe side.

I on the other hand am watching ancient episodes of Eastenders where everyone is slimmer and still has hair. I’ve been uploading the CV I knocked together at 3am this morning to various job search websites. Looking for work I am unqualified to do in workplaces that are closed or have furloughing staff because you know?  You can’t go to work unless you can go to work, in which case you should to to work, unless of course you can’t.

FML and try to keep smiling.

Stay safe. Wash your hands. Clap for carers. We’re all in this together etc etc blah blah blah.




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Day #35698 of Lockdown.

Well, it isn’t, but sometimes it feels that way.

I’m fluctuating between days where my mental state feels like this…


…to days like Monday (I think it was Monday anyway) where it was more like this…

blair witch

…and I didn’t get out of bed until 4pm because I didn’t want to participate in anything other than to have a bit of tea and then I went back to my pit at 7:30pm.


Today, thankfully was more like a Kermit day.  I heard from quite a few people on messenger and Whatsapp. So that made me feel less of a loser.
I was sat in the garden enjoying my book in a deck chair when I heard a man shouting.  It was a gypsy scrapper at my back gate, looking like an extra from The Tiger King. He wanted to know if I had any old iron he could have. I replied in the negative and he went on his way, but not before he had wolf-whistled, 1970s style, to himself as he shambled toothlessly away down my rear passage.

Nice to know I’ve still got it.


I had a visage-a-visage isolation conversation (adhering to social distancing rules of course) at the end of my drive with my friend from over the road. And also a chat through the car window (again from a safe distance) with my other friend.  We talked about whether it was normal to think that you might accidentally fall over into a pile of dog muck with your mouth open. Or trip on a country walk & get snagged on some barbed wire and then starve to death. You know, just the usual normal type of conversations you have with your friends.


I also played swingball and Jenga with Wilson. He was better at Jenga and beat me at that.  He couldn’t keep up with me on the hula hoop though.



Who knows what will occur tomorrow? There’s loose talk of a walk to B&M for essential items like the ever-elusive yeast or maybe even a paddling pool.

Friday, Bman is livestreaming another DJ set from the shed. I have threatened to podium dance atop the haunted chair this week. Tune in on Fb and enjoy the show.

Stay sane out there MoFos and try not to die Xx


Dead bugs & doorstep challenges

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Sunday was pretty calm a day in the Big Brother house. No tramps to poke this time.

I slept on the sofa on Saturday night after two hours of sleep in my own bed – awoken by Bman snoring like he was gargling phlegm. My mind flitted from, “FFS Shut up asshole!” to “Aww bless him he can’t help it” to “If I smothered him with a pillow I could blame it on the virus” back to, “Poor Bman and his poor ickle snotty oesophagus”, then, “Foooook saaaake shut up!”  So I took myself off downstairs to my alternative night time isolation destination station and watched 2 episodes of Jonathan Creek before eventually nodding back off until 8:30am.

It was a beautiful morning so I sat in the garden with a coffee and read my book then watched a ladybird on a leaf for a while. I tried to take an Instagram fabulous picture of it, worthy of the cover of the 2021 Countryfile calendar – to no avail. Then Alan Lickman came along and rolled in the grass in front of me vying for attention. When he finished writhing around and sat up, I saw that the leaf was now devoid of the ladybird, presumably now ground to red dust by Alan’s big fat body.


Sorry about that Ladybird.

There was no evidence of the ‘clap for our little heroes at 3pm’ suggestion. This was something Bman spotted on the old community Fb page the other day. Someone wanting us all to clap for the children who were being so brave by erm, staying inside. It’s week 2. Let’s not peak too early.  There was also a notice on the community page about dancing on your doorstep at 7pm to S Club 7’s ‘Reach’. I forget the reasoning behind this one. Possibly just to make you look like a dickhead shaking your bingo wings on your drive in your dressing gown. I did stick my head out the front and back door to listen if anyone was participating in this dance for damnation. Not a single note of S Club of any kind could I hear around the hood. (Thus raising my opinion of the natives for having some sense).

Personally, I think it was the choice of song that put everyone off. Should have gone for some 80’s electro and made it into a bit of a breakdance burn off. One side of the street Vs the other. Bloods V Crips. NYC Breakers Vs Rocksteady Crew – then I might have been on board.

Old school BS Electros, roll out your lino ladies and let’s Zoom ourselves around the nation… or not.




Stay safe y’all. Be kind. Don’t be a dick.  You know the rules.



…and then I went out. Not out out, just out.

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It’s Sunday. It’s been over a week since I was at work, so why does it feel like longer than that? 

On Friday I ventured to the post office to post a parcel and get some bread and burger baps. Not the grobbly one that is closest, as I feared for my safety heading into that kind of territory in these unstable times. Instead, I went to the one I pass when I walk to the pool.  It was a lovely day for a bit of fresh air and a change of scene. I thought it might be too soon in the lockdown to go full Mad Max, so I ditched the colander headgear.


No bread or baps in the Post Office so had to go to McColls further up the road.  Already infamously pricey in there it did seem as if the prices may have been bumped up.  2 packs of 6 burger baps and I may as well have laid across the counter and just let myself get shafted! Fookin L! 

Walking back, I decided to test the old walkie talkie again. I had taken one with me so I text Bman and my friend to see if they could hear me on channel 6. At this point, I was near the stud farm (not the stables, don’t say stables or we’ll be here all day!) By now, it seemed that a good section of the neighbourhood has decided to go for their daily constitutional. The lane is narrow so I opted to wait by the gates where the path is wider until they had all trooped past me.  Naturally, this was when my walkie burst into life.  Bman came through first, pretending to be someone else, doing a silly voice and asking if anyone had any spare cigarettes or loo roll. The passers-by glanced at me curiously as I tried to hide the walkie behind my back whilst nodding at them “hey, morning, how you doing?” etc.  Then my friend comes on too, at first, also pretending to be someone else, asking for emergency loo roll.  Then playing a siren soundbyte and what I think may have been a clip from Robocop – “CITIZENS, RETURN TO YOUR HOMES” **SIREN SIREN** “CITIZENS, RETURN TO YOUR HOMES”  **SIREN SIREN** All this booming out as dogwalkers walked past, giving me a wider berth than the necessary 2m distance as I nod again, “Morning, you alright?” as if this was all perfectly normal.  FFS!

So I have been outside into the world since the weekend but I won’t be making a habit of it. The garden will do for me.  The tatie patch is dug and Pepper has already decided it’s just a massive litter tray for her personal use.


No pictures please, I’m having a shit underneath this glitterball

Bman told me today after not getting up until the afternoon that he’d gone out for a walk yesterday morning at the crack of arse! He’d been given a loaf of bread by a man in a pick-up truck who says he worked at a bakery and was taking the out of date loaves to feed the horses.  The Childerbeast reckon that he probably thought Bman was homeless. They have a point. It was 6am, he was wandering through the local council estate and given what he said he was wearing, there’s every chance that pickup driver is feeling most righteous today from thinking he has saved a life with a free loaf of short-dated Hovis.



So how is everyone else’s lockdown going? Anyone else gone full Burbs meets The Griswalds?

Ciao for now isolation dudes Xx



Hey Lamo! Call me on channel 6

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In our quest to dig for victory, Bman has filled up our brown garden waste bin.  In light of the announcement from the council that these bins were not being collected for the foreseeable, he cooked up a plan. This involved me going for my daily ration of exercise round the block,  wearing cargo pants with pockets filled with garden waste. Emptying the contents as I went – Great Escape style. No doubt whistling the theme tune as I merrily went along.

I said no to this ludicrous suggestion. 

His Plan B was to, under cover of darkness,  stealthily exchange our full bin for the empty one across the road at the unoccupied house opposite.
Fate, however, intervened here (as it is wont to do).  As I was putting clothes away upstairs yesterday afternoon, I looked out the window & saw two teenage girls liberate said empty brown bin from said unoccupied house, in broad daylight. Not a single stealth-like fuck was given as they wheeled it off down the street laughing away to themselves.

Bman was most disgruntled at this development.

Cut to Plan C.  I won’t elaborate, but suffice to say, We have a new brown bin – currently being filled while the Bman finishes his digging. Let’s hope he doesn’t find a femur or manage to electrocute himself by digging up the electricity cable that connects the shed to the house (yes… that shit happened, but I made him put it back before either of us got a zapping). Or he digs up an unexploded WW2 shell or some such and ends up getting the whole neighbourhood sealed off by the army.
Anything that distracts him for peeping out the front window like a meerkat anytime anybody walks past and saying “Who’s this Big Brew?” in a funny voice (even more than he usually does), is fine by me.

I thought it was a testing time when he was looking for work before… The universe is testing me and my patience (and him and his) these last few months and so it would seem will continue to do so for some time yet.


Wonder which one of us will end up buried in this tatie patch next to the electric cable before the year’s end?


Wilson says… dig for victory (but don’t fuck with the electric cable)

In a further experiment, on Bman’s tea break, I wandered up the street to see how far the range was on my ghostbusting walkie talkies. I got to the bus stop then turned back as there were some infected coming towards me (they may not have been infected but I was taking no chances in these strange times).  I then text my pal & got her involved.  She lives on the next street & has her own set of walkies and by gum, it worked! 




I think he can hear you Ray

Yes, It’s only Day 4 and it has turned into ‘The Burbs’ round here. I’m just waiting for the Klopeks’ furnace to burst into life and Ricky Butler to start painting his house whilst calling for the pizza dude.

So at least if the mobile network goes down, we will be able to still talk shit and quote random League of Gentlemen references at one another while society burns to the ground around us.




Day1 of Lockdown in the Brewer home

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Good news.  The eldest child, who has been indoors for a week, and who had a minor freakout last night, did not El Snappo during the wee small hours and kill us all in our beds like something from the Amityville Horror… so that’s promising.



Easy now! It’s only been a week

Today we ( I say we. It was mostly Bman) have cracked on with The Good Life and dug up some of the lawn for a bit of future self-sufficiency. Bman had a funny turn mid-dig and thought he was having a stroke (because he’s an unhealthy bastard). Luckily he recovered after a sit-down, so is not clogging up the NHS with his infirmity in these times of dire global emergency.



Digging for victory

I read a story to my nieces in Manchester via WhatsApp. I set up a colouring competition on my Koolkids page. Bman and I watched a live Instagram video from survival expert Ed Stafford on how to tie knots. Helpful for if we end up stuck at home for longer than 3 weeks – a noose? Tying bodies up in tarpaulin? 


The full enormity of this situation has hit Bman hard today when he received a notice from the council that for the foreseeable future, the brown bin for garden waste will not be getting emptied.

giphy (2)


Lockdown Day1 – I’m fine. Everything’s fine!

Stay tuned for weekly if not daily updates on the thrilling activities we get up to at Casa Brew over the forthcoming weeks.  Or not.  Read that book you’ve been meaning to read.  Paint your skirting boards. Plant some seeds. Develop an alcohol problem from daytime drinking. Amuse your neighbours by working out in front of the window in fancy dress.

But mostly…stay indoors. Yes, it’s a pain, But you know it makes sense.

Ciao Ciao Isolated Mofos. Xx