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On the 12th day of Christmas my true love gave to me…..Noro Virus

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Name that tune:  “Been a long time. I shouldn’t have left you. Without a strong rhyme to step to” – I know you got soul, Eric B & Rakim

Move Quote of the Day:  “I’m waiting for her head to start spinning round” – Parenthood



Since I last wrote. I am now half-way to 82.


Birthday last day at work.  Busy busy, Christmas jumpers, yadayada. No party bag AGAIN from the dinner ladies, even though I added my name to the list and mentioned it twice.

I think we all now know where I stand on that score…

Uneventful journey to Chester Y’s.  World supposedly was ending at 1713 GMT, at which point the childerbeast and I were on board the Arriva Trains Wales, Manc Piccadilly to Chester, sharing a chocolate orange.  I could think of worse ways to go if I’m honest.   The sacred time came and went and unless you count passing through Newton le Willows, nothing sinister or untoward occurred.

                    The World moved on…. pretty much in the same shit way as before


Apparently 2012 Apocalyptic end of days is so last year darling (well, technically, as I write, it’s still this year). 

2018 is the all new end of days. 

By then, unless I come a cropper in a freak washing-up accident, I will be 47 and about done for I should imagine, so bring it on I say.

Note to Self:  train childerbeast, Sarah Connors style, to survive all-out Nuclear holocaust/zombie invasion/breakdown of civilised society.

Birthday money –  Very nice thank you very much all.  May treat self to new mattress and I have just realised Thing1 needs new passport for July trip to France so £46 of it will go on that!


23rd Dec, we were back on train to Boro.  Christmassy feeling now kicking in.  Very nice. About time too.  Then on Christmas Eve very early morning as karmic punishment to my annual “Don’t like it Christmas” munterings, I was rudely awoken by a poorly Thing1 who only just made it to the bathroom for a Chunderbirds are Go situation.  Cue rest of night/wee small hours spent holding back her hair while she continued to barf and between barfs, begged me to make it stop.


Christmas Eve visit to Santa’s Grotto at the magical Boyes; lunch at The Hut and some last minute gift purchasing and casual retail therapy on self, now kiboshed and just another pipe dream.

TV in spare room at Grandma’s also bolloxed, so no festive telly to watch while I sat at my wee one’s sickly bedside.


She began to rally towards the end of the day and managed to make it downstairs.  Colour returning to her cheeks just as it began to drain from Thing 2’s.

Ding Ding. Round 2!   Older child = bigger insides = lots more hurlage!


This time, for added “Fuck You and your Christmas sucks attitude!”  This one was firing from both ends.

“Nurse! The Screens please” and “Grandma where do you keep the Vim?”

Bejeebus.  Someone somewhere was laughing at me good style, let me tell you!

Rest of evening not spent inhaling Quality Street and drinking self into acute liver failure, which is as it should be.  Instead it was buckets and bowls, showering children clean, changing bed linen and hoping against hope that they would both settle down and get to sleep and feel better for Santa…


Fortunately, they both did sleep and feel better.  We were up at a respectable 7am.  Santa HAD been, although some of his choices were a little bizarre.

I know what's on Santa's mind

I know what’s on Santa’s mind


An odd gift but much appreciated

It's as big as my face!

It’s as big as my face!

 Loved my Jenny Lawson book and Gil Elvgren calender though – well done the Bman!Xx


 For the children… he may have underestimated the height of Thing2 because when she opened up her new scooter & hopped aboard, it looked like a remake of Gulliver’s Travels or perhaps Santa mistook her gifts for Warwick Davis’s

I would have loved to have inserted an amusing picture here of her hunched over the handlebars, but she refused to let me take a photo.

She eventually saw the funny side once she stopped beefing and of course mummy dearest promised to make good Santa’s ineptitude, so a scooter more suitable for someone of her height, for the princely sum of £35 is on its way, in the early new year.

One year, I will spend my birthday money on myself.


Boxing Day, as I may have mentioned, is a day of drinking and catching up with (or hiding from) old school pals and exes in the bars and saloons of Scarborough.  A tradition dating back to when Fisherman’s Wives invented binge drinking in the days before alcopops.

I was looking forward to it.

In usual circumstances I would write an entirely separate blog entry about my adventures on this day. Painting a picture of hedonistic, debauched rumbunctiousness of a Bacchanalian nature.  Photographic evidence and possible video footage would be uploaded. Names would be altered to protect the innocent and those of a professional standing.

However…instead I stayed in my dressing gown all day, didn’t eat or drink a thing. Fell asleep on MiL’s bed at 3pm and woke up again at 7:30pm – drained and weak from the shits!

Karma – clearly a big fan of Christmas and all it entails, was very much laughing his ass off at me this year.


I even had an overnight pass out and a free room at a hotel in town so I didn’t have to shamble back to Grandma’s in a state.  I was going to help my friend who recently had a 40th birthday celebrate it, belatedly but in style and disgracefulness.

But No.

I had the shits instead.



Back home now.  Ready to see in the New Year with The Ludewig Posse tomorrow.  May 2013 bring peace, joy, happiness and possibly my being able to spend my birthday money on myself.

The DHW pictoral run down of 2012 will be in your face within the next few days.

Until then have a safe New Year whatever you may be up to.  May the force 9 gales and midnight hailstorms not keep you awake or blow the tiles off your roof!

And remember… don’t fuck with Karma, or that Mother will Noro-Virus your ass when you least expect it!

Ciao for now peeps




OMG I am going to hurt someone in a minute!

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I’d love to tell you all about my trip to Manchester and how I embraced my inner twat by wearing a Wolf Hat into the cinema to watch Breaking Dawn Pt2 (in lieu of a full wolf pelt like the indomitable mighty Bloggess).

However, I am hurriedly writing this on someone elses PC, because some fucktard with a heavy foot on the accelerator decided to knock down a telegraph pole on my street on Saturday. Thus rendering half the street without a landline or Internet.

Way to go asshole!

Fear not that full details of my protracted conversations with BT Openreach, AOL (and also on an unrelated subject, my bank) will follow in due course.  Needless to say it has not improved my outlook on the World or done anything to suggest to me that generally, when all said and done, most people are absolute, total and utter genetic throwbacks with shit for brains and the sooner we are wiped out by a solar flare, the better!

Case in point: 

BT Openreach  “This is not the correct number to call Mrs Breevin. I will give you another number to call”

Me:  “Is that not going to cost me a fortune on my mobile though?”

Them:  “Well you could always ring them from your landline Mrs Broovar”

Me:    “Can I?  Can I though?


FFS and befecking holy Jesus on a fecking bike!!!

Back from the Boro & feeling fine

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Oh I do like to be beside the seaside, oh I do like to be beside the sea.

Back on full power after dipping my toes in the north bay of the homeland.  Not much live wildlife to be seen in the rockpools, but The Bear did find a Peugeot key ring – no car to go with it though.  Childerbeast also had a good lesson in tidal education when they almost got cut off because they weren’t listening to me.  Eventually coaxed them back to safety, despite their insistence that they check out some other rocks.  I asked them to count while they looked at the sand island they had just been on –  20 seconds later, it was gone and I got to say See!

Watch out for that incoming tide kids

Occasionally… mum knows best.

Didn’t venture into town at all this visit.  In all honesty, the calibre of grockle I witnessed, excessively drinking at 1030 on the train on the way there, put me off going anywhere near any touristy areas.  Incidentally, most of them boarded the train at Leeds!  Usually I’m more than happy to slate the Wezzies, but I’m afraid they might set Nicola Adams on me, and I need way more time on my shed punchbag before I’d be happy to take her on!

Spent Wednesday in Whitby introducing the MiL and childerbeast to the brilliance of Whitby Museum.  You may remember I raved about this place after our 2011 Residential visit.  I was keen to share the joy and have another look around.  Frankly, anywhere you can see a stuffed crocodile in a patriotic waistcoat holding a Union Jack flag is worth the £4 door tax any day.  Well worth a visit just for the fantastic Fossil collection, even some from the (you couldn’t make it up) Kirkdale Caves excavation, when a veritable Noah’s Ark of animal bones was discovered in a cave near Helmsley!

This time around I got to see so much more and the staff were fabulous.  Notable in their absence last time we went (doubtless barricaded in the staff room hiding from us and our hoard of 2-dozen 11 year olds!)  This time, they couldn’t have been more helpful and friendly.  Even the big cheese was brought out of his office to chat to us after the MiL commented that the museum was not as well advertised as it should be.  

I stuck my two-penneth in about the glaring omissions from the gift store – namely; miniature Tempest Prognosticator key rings; replica but working Truant’s clog and a Hand of Glory backscratcher/ashtray/tealight holder/earrings etc. 

In fairness, he didn’t flinch and even agreed and said he’d already suggested Hand of Glory gingerbread biscuits in the Tea Rooms downstairs, but they weren’t going for it.  I’d totally buy one of them (& I don’t even like gingerbread!)

In the end I had to settle for a Hand of Glory fridge magnet.

Every fridge should have one!

As that old saying goes about learning something new every day, I discovered during conversation with the MiL (as we looked at the stuffed seabird collection) that as a 12 year old she’d belonged to a Taxidermy Club.

Hold the fecking phone! 

A Taxidermy Club?  Apparently they frequented Bempton Cliffs looking for dead birds then took them back to Woodend Museum in Scarborough and stuffed & mounted them in various poses and tableau.  Now THAT is the kind of distraction for the young that you just don’t see enough of these days.    If there were more clubs like that on offer it would surely divert the bored and restless youth of today away from thoughts of wanton crime and mindless rioting during the summer holidays.  The possibilities for modern roadkill are endless.  Stuff ’em, mount ’em and get ’em dressed up:   Badger Boris Johnson (complete with harness & zipwire); Weasel Rooney with a harem of sluttishly-attired weasel hookers; Urban Fox Beyoncé;  Squirrel Nick Clegg… I could go on…   Bloody brilliant!

My distraction for the day after watching the diving this morning and the finals tonight will mostly consist of curtain tweaking as my new neighbours move in across the road.  All new fat Baldy and his big-bootied wife.  They have two young men with them (“Ooooh young man!”) and I am trying to discreetly tell if they are (a) also moving in  and (b) if they are fit or just portraying the illusion of being so.  They look quite chavvy but Hell, I’m in Tyersal here, not the Hollywood Hills and to be fair, I am also wearing shorts and a sparkly parrot T shirt.  Chavtastic! 

Perhaps I need to go out and put something in the bin or tickle about in the front garden for a more optimum vantage point  (or perhaps I should just get a life!)


Ciao darlings Xx

Word du jour would have to be ‘Flatulate’

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This book was brought to my attention today (cheers Gene Genie) It’s your own time you’re wasting.  I am looking forward to reading it in full.  I also eagerly await the release of the mighty Bloggess long-overdue memoir ‘Lets pretend this never happened’.  If only because there’s a picture of a taxidermied mouse called Hamlet Von Schnitzel on the cover.


My own memoirs, tentatively titled, “Things you never thought you’d say out loud” (or possible other working title) “Fuck up your own education if you wish, I’ve got mine so I’m good thanks!” is currently a work in progress.   I have yet to decide what manner of eccentricity I shall have for a picture on my front cover on the book I have yet to write.  The possibilities are endless, but in all likelihood, may include flamingos and parrots

Worthy of inclusion within the book would definitely be; in answer to the question: “I’ve heard about masturbation Miss, what’s that all about then?”  that the answer “We’re going to get right down to that in a minute” is probably not the wisest!   

I also think that there should be some kind of certificate awarded on the basis of remaining poker faced and professional when faced with the question “Can a vagina overflow with sperm Miss?” or being advised in the playground “It’s OK Miss, I know what a dildo is now – so & so just told me”.  Turns out that the child in question found out about such things from the video game ‘Saints Row – The Third – so that’s ok then!

(I’ve Wiki’d this, and they’re not giving out any cheats on what level you have to be on to find out where dildo’s come into the gameplay so if anyone out there can clue me in – I’m all ears).

Break up for Half Term tomorrow and I’ll be enlightening the darlings on the intricacies of Michelangelo’s painting of the Sistine Chapel with a sprinkling of Dante’s ‘Divine Comedy’ for good measure.  Throwing myself open to further material for the book no doubt!  I bring it all on myself really!


FYI,  according to some sources, today is the little known French holiday, ‘Pasta Thursday’  and did you know that thousands flock to the cathedral in Notre Dame to visit that most sacred of religious artifacts –  The Crown of Chocolate Fishes, as worn by Jesus when he died in Nice 2.1million years ago (when trilobites handed out chocolate eggs to the children of France.)

FFS! Seriously?  do not bloody well ask!


Friday Round Up (which includes the word ‘mirkin’ so what’s not to like?)

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Favourite pictures I have purloined from sitonmyfacebook this week are as follows:

and this one which I should probably get as a tattoo:-


Favourite blog entry I have read this week has to be from The Bloggess, documenting a recent trip to the cinema dressed in a wolf pelt.  Not a  wolf fleece (or indeed a wokf fleece) but a true wolf pelt.  Awesome! 

  How do I know that if she had been in Whitby at the weekend we would have liberated that stuffed alligator and the hand of glory and the tempest prognosticator? and I would also possibly have several full size ichthyosaur fossils decorating my garden.

Have a read here: – The Bloggess


Best thing I have watched on TV this week has to be ‘Life’s Too Short’. 

Can’t find the scene where Johnny Depp plays a penny whistle & makes Warwick Davis Riverdance – but this scene is also bloody brilliant!



I was rather less entertained by the sight of Russell Grant being fired from a polystyrene cannon at Wembley Arena; dressed in a shirt that looked like something I once saw a Supergrass gig in at T in the Park! 

See where you went wrong there Aunty Beeb was not using a real cannon. 

Mercifully he has now been voted off the show which is a great shame for Millets who I’m sure had gained financially from all the tent sales.  I’m sure he’s a lovely man, but seriously, it was bad enough with Widdicombe last year.  Enough with the comedy fat celebrities in sequins please!


Choice phrases of the week,  which one wouldn’t usually hear or use in polite society are:- 

“I’m telling you that cock is going viral my friend”

and one which I think could turn into a classic:-

“If all else fails, we can always quiff up the mirkin”

Now if that second one doesn’t deserve some kind of merchandise creating on Zazzle at The DHW Store right now then I’d be failing you all.   Leave it with me.   I’m on it!

Enjoy your weekend peeps Xx