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Tag Archives: Tequila

Vive le Bank Holiday

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Occasionally a potential blog post just falls into my lap. Such an occasion happened yesterday although sadly, not literally.  Me and the Childerbeast were on way home from the Boro after taking Grandma out for a birthday meal. A gaggle of glamourpuss girls got on the train and before long the prosecco corks were popping.  At Malton, a vanguard of attractive young rugby players got on, laden down with beer and a bottle of tequila.  The Childerbeast commented that it could all end up being another last train home from Blackpool situation.  It looked like a different class of reveller to me though. 

In my head, these lads would totally have sat with me on my 4-seater, if it hadn’t been for the barbed wire, fun repellent, no-mans-land, barrier of my Childerbeast.  Surely I would present less threatening company than the ladies further up the carriage.

Soon the entire train was full of the heady aroma of Impulse Vs Lynx, Budweiser, tequila and sparkling wine and the increasing volume of man noise Vs girly high pitched giggling.  A sudden burst of Happy Birthday made sure that we all knew why the ladies were out and about.  A non-too subtle enticement to try and get the men to gravitate toward them.

I watched amused and slightly envious.  I’m not too sure I would even have joined in 20 years ago (I probably would to be fair).  I was struck with the harsh knowledge that if I had indeed managed to inveigle my way into this boys Vs girls jolly up, it would only ever be in the capacity of a novelty nan figure for the ladies, or a grab a gran dare for the lads.

Harry Enfield times.

Reality bites!  😦

They all got off at York and another set of young ‘uns got on.  Childerbeast at first thought it was the same crowd having got off at one door and boarded again via another.  I assured them it was in fact a different crowd.  These lot were of a less well-bred variety.  You could tell by the less classy booze,  their poor dental hygiene and West Yorkshire accents.


It’s been a week now since Gollum died.  I see her all over the place. A towel on the floor. A pair of Bman’s work shoes.  Pepper from the wrong angle.  I miss her.

G-Meister.  Gone but never forgotten

G-Meister. Gone but never forgotten


Festivals are a bit like Marmite

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I wrote all this out yesterday but them somehow managed to delete it during the editing process.  Laptop operator ineptitude, clearly!

In the words of King George VI;  “Fuck, fuck, bugger, fuckity fuck fuck, shit, bugger and tits!”

I forget what the post was about to be honest.  I’ve had a sleep since then.  Basically it was about my having watched Glastonbury again this year from the sanctuary of my own bed.  Hot and cold water laid on and lavatory facilities to hand that don’t involve an arduous hike through fields and a guy ropes.
I’ve yet to attend Glastonbury and every year I say I will go –  but then can’t be arsed. 

Oh my Christ! Feck that!

Oh my Christ! Feck that!

No stranger to the hygiene-impaired portaloo, I’ve attended a few festies in my time.  Indeed the childerbeast have pretty much been to at least one a summer, either as crew or punters for the past 6 years, as my regular readers will know.  We missed out last year but our ‘living space’ will be out in force this summer.  Fairy-light bedecked and camping stove fired up to turbo.  I will do my usual and hate it the first night and swear I will never attend one again.  Then I will quickly turn feral and start free-dancing in a yurt with a yoga guru called Tabby or Tristan.  The childerbeast will beg to go to bed and I will berate them for being dull and make them skank in the reggae tent in their pyjamas till the wee small hours or watch inappropriate films, accompanied by weird men playing tunes on old bicycle parts.  I shall openly discuss buying a camper van and retiring from the world to travel the countryside, home-schooling my children.   This idea will last approximately 48 hours and then I will recover my sleep patterns and have detoxed and normal stagnant reality will resume anew and I will pack away my poncho and hat for another year.

My girls have seen some sights bless them (and I don’t just mean their mother dressed as a witch, still mashed up on tequila, laid prone in the tent doorway.)  I think taking them to music festivals (and yes I do screen them from the unnecessary sights) will make them more tolerant and well-rounded individuals as they grow up.  Either that, or they’ll end up as nutty as their mother – it could go either way…

Before long they too will be going to these things on their own and falling asleep in an empty marquee then waking up in the full throes of someone’s set, surrounded by people dancing around them.*

I think the festival appeals to my eclectic taste in fashion.  If I could get away with the short shorts, wellies and poncho combo every day at work, I probably would.  Generally, Management & the Inspectors take a dim view of that kind of thing though, so I try to make an effort.  Went in my slackydaks today as I was out on a sports thing.  It’s been a while – I felt a bit like I was at work in my pyjamas to be honest.  I may not have gone into work wearing them had I known we weren’t setting off until 11:30 and the school inspector was in!  She didn’t see me so it was okay!

Meanwhile, do enjoy some snaps of festivals past…

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Capacity crowd at 0900hrs


charging up my phone via pedal power



Waiting for DJ Yoda



Don’t ask….




Mini Crew Members

Mini Crew Members


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* It was 1996, before I had children, s0 no need to call Childline!




Sunday bollocks

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Would it be indecent to crack open the tequila in light of the fact that Mexico are playing this afternoon? 

I tell you what is indecent…
the sight of Adrian Chiles channelling the Ray Mears look with the khaki shorts and legs splayed open.  I may well have to pour tequila, salt and lemon into my eyes, never mind down my throat!
Most indecent!

I switched over in the end to watch Glasters going gaga for Dolly.