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…and another thing

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I forgot to mention yesterday another massive pet peeve of mine.

Quad bikes.

This is the appropriate way to use a quad. (There is one of me somewhere on the same quad but I can’t find it).


Well perhaps not the most appropriate way… but at least it is being used on a working farm and not for hooning up and down the street .  If you are, let’s say, going out for, or delivering recreational pharmaceuticals in a residential neighbourhood, I strongly suggest using a more discreet vehicle for the purpose.

If you aint on a farm, rounding up livestock or whatever, you do not need a quad bike. And if you’re texting while on a quad then you are an utter bellend and a twat and the sooner you pile it into wall and take yourself out of the gene pool, the better.

Also can I just thank my Canadian cuz for the hair care tip about washing the weave with Fairy Liquid (other brands are available) to get rid of the chlorine build-up.  Did this after work yesterday, whacked on some conditioner especially for blondes and today I have this… lovely and soft.


No filters and looking more like the goddess I feel like inside (when I’m not looking like a council estate scag on the outside) and hopefully less like any other jaded gone-to-seed heavy metal frontmen.

Right. Off to binge watch American Horror Story, Apocalypse. Where I shit you not, the mysterious organisation controlling the apparent re-population of the world after a nuclear war, is called ‘The Cooperative’. And it has the witches from the Coven in it.  Awesome!

Remember kids. Witchcraft isn’t just for Halloween.

Blessed be MotherFuckers!

Don’t look at me

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I’m not known for embracing progress and change.  Luddite that I am.  I catch on and up eventually and usually reluctantly.

I have got used to the witchcraft of the magical telly box and have taken to the devilish smartphone.  Now, however, I have another mystical device in the house.  

The Bear got an ipad for her birthday and this morning asked me to set up ‘Facetime’ so she could talk to Mimi & Pappy and her Aunty Jade.

I care for it not a jot.  Surely it is a stealer of souls. 

 I enjoy the anonymity of internet in this manner because nobody can see my face.  Text, phone and letter are my communication mediums of choice for the same reason.
It’s the same reason I am always the one who takes the photos – that way, I am behind the lens and not infront and when I am infront I am usually goofing off, wearing shades or in a silly costume.  That way, it isn’t really me…. see?

I don’t really get it either, especially considering my job where I am stood in front of people all day long, talking,  and don’t even have a box on my head or anything.

Just one of my many foibles I suppose.

Daughter number 2 has recently taken up knitting and I have rediscovered the knowledge.  Perhaps a balaclava could be on the cards.

Baby, I’m your man!

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I took a photo of myself today on my new witchcraft mobile to use as a profile pic for Instagram.


Trust me, I am not fishing for platitudes, but holy moley I looked like bloody shit no matter what angle I took the fucker from!   Crow’s Feet?   It was like Alfred Hitchcock’s ‘The Birds’ out there round the old eye regions (and I had make-up on). 

I thought I looked pretty decent circa 2006 – I seemed to come into my own and embrace my mid to late 30’s.  Now the façade has started to crumble and the plasterboard & MDF is beginning to show through.  I might try some of that Nanoblur cream (or maybe just a pair of 10 denier tights over the lens of my camera)

not the eyes, not the eyes!

Have I always looked like a man & just not been able to admit the truth to myself? 

I’ve sadly lacked in the lovin’ department over the years, not exactly fighting the fellas off with a stick, & most of the decent offers I did get, I knocked back because I’m an asshole (who had, & still has, body inferiority issues).   

My youngest even said last week while I was mooching for clothes in Chester and asked their opinion on a frock.  “Mum, sorry but dresses and you… well they just don’t match”

Think my sister got the looks and I just got the mannish chin and the moles from the paternal side of the Fam.


I like to think that perhaps I appear better in the flesh, as it were, and just don’t take a pretty picture.   Bman knows the truth.  He’s been describing me to his work colleagues as ‘Benny Hill in a wig’ for years.  To be fair, he’s still around, which speaks volumes, although I’m not sure of what?

Vogue will be calling any time soon (for their drag edition)

I’ve used a picture of one of the childerbeast’s eyes instead & thrown a cloth over the bathroom mirror…


The Future is…. vinyl

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Our household is now almost at one with the 21st century (is it the 20th or 21st century right now?  I forget… last week I thought for a fleeting moment that it was March – seriously am losing my f*c*ing mind I swear!)

Bman has made purchase of a DigiBoxFreeview doodad that records and pauses the TV in the middle of football games etc.





                                                    BURN HIM! 


I don’t pretend to understand how it works.  I don’t know how it works and I don’t want to to know.  I just want to stick my fingers in my ears and say “LaLaLaLaLa” so as to avoid the ducking stool when the Witchfinder General comes knocking and I can deny all knowledge of recording the entire series of ‘Downton Abbey’ and ‘Spooks’ at the touch of a magic button of electrickery.

Now.. the only question remains is what should I do with my stack of Betamax videotapes,  my Spinning Jenny and the family Bathing Machine?  Have already found use for some of my old vinyl; some of which are now utilised as snack bowls after an experimental session with the stove.


Nibbles anyone?