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Fuck dry January. All hail Ginuary

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Well dry January lasted until Wednesday the 3rd when I went back to work.  I held off at least until I got home but was two gins in by 9pm.


A short week indeed, but am already knackered and considering alternative career prospects.
I’m stuck though aren’t I?  I’ll end up like some kind of disillusioned, wizened, bitter old Yoda figure stamping library books in a corner and listening to KS1 reading about fucking Biff & Chip for the eleventy billionth time.. The children will remind me that I used to teach their parents and dad wants to know if I’m still a bitch.

I doubt by then I’ll have the energy…



chin chin for gin Xx

Back in the game

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Last bus home on Tuesday from Leeds was uneventful in the end to say the least.  No pissed-up olds with wet underwear in their handbags cackling away or dancing in the aisles.  Disappointing really.

    I about coped with the crowds of other Micky Flanagan fans at the Leeds Arena, many of whom had clearly been propping up the bar in ‘Spoons since teatime.  Micky was very funny and I shall not be able to eat an iced Chelsea bun again without a smirk on my face.

Sadly, mingling with the masses seems to have brought on a cold.  Lovely.  Snotty tissues and lemsips all round.

I did manage to venture to Manc on Thursday for a surprise meet up with the Fam at Altrincham Markets at lunchtime.  Thought I ought to make the most of an opportunity to do that kind of thing while I am still off work, particularly as my time in the arena of the unwell is coming to an end.  Discussed with doctor on Friday and I will officially be fit for work on a phased return from the 5th June! I’ve had no further counselling but think I could maybe do with some more.  I need to arrange a new person to see though I think.  My usual lady lives out in the sticks so I’m limited to when Bman can drive me and hang around waiting. When I emailed her to say I couldn’t make it it the other week, I got no reply whatsoever and have heard nothing since.  I could be swinging from the ceiling or crumpled on the bathroom floor in a pile of my own chunder clutching an empty bottle of paracetamol for all she knows!

Today I’ve had a meeting with my boss to organise a phased return to work timetable.  It looks fair enough on paper but I guess only time will tell how it will work in reality.  Everyone at work is being very supportive – possibly out of fear that I’ll either flid out again, burst into tears or I’ll go postal & start taking potshots at people from the school roof like a proper loon.
But hey, at least I didn’t get my meds at the local chemist and realise that the pharmacist was a parent from school or anything… oh hang on!
Could’ve been worse I suppose.  I could’ve been collecting Methadone or genital wart cream or something rather than just ‘anxiety’ tablets.


My youngest is at a Wheatus gig tonight & then sleeping out at her friend’s – on a school night no less (because she’s just a teenage dirtbag baby).  Naturally I will be unable to sleep until I know she is home, so she better not forget to text me.

Ciao Tutti


What I did while the cats were left to fend for themselves

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So I thought I’d give WordPress another bash so here I am.  Want to try and gain a bit more traffic and sell some more of my shit from the The DHW Store. Xmas will be here before you know it, and you can never have enough crap after all!.  Let’s see how that goes eh?Anyhoo.

Just like a Bank Holiday weekend should be, we went to a hog roast around a roaring fire in a field behind a pub. Kids playing in a stream in their wellies and booze aplenty for a big fat gypsy 40th.

Sadly Bman’s 1980’s Toxteth market shelly anorak didn’t get thrown onto the fire, nor did his tartan flat cap, so he made it through the weekend looking like an Estonian DJ (“Ya! Freakout shexy deeesko ladies”). And he dares to mock my fashion sense?

I think he's saying, "Why the fuck did I buy this jacket and hat?"

Left the birthday party before it got too messy as we wanted clear(ish) heads for the social event of the year that is… Farndale Show the next morning. An occasion which Bman and I have threatened to get to every year for the past 10 years. 2011 was our year and I have to say, that despite it being a small village traditional show I thoroughly enjoyed it, particularly as we won 2 bottles of wine on the tombola within the first 5 minutes of arriving.

If giant vegetables and fruits amuse you, and displays of vintage tractor driving float your boat and the legendary sport of kings – terrier racing, gets your motor running then small village shows are the place to be.

The baddest of baddass bloody great big onions

 Screw ‘V’ and ‘Reading’ festivals. What you want is a Bird of Prey display where the falcon flies away and refuses to come back and to enjoy the little known, underground sport of Unicorn Shooting*

Take that mot*erf**ker!

Farndale Show rocks y’all!


And my favourite conversation of the weekend has to be this:

G) He’s good isn’t he?

K) Who?

G) That Liverpool football player.

K) Which Liverpool football player, I don’t know that much about it.

G) Him there. In the fancy dress contest

K) Seriously dude? that’s Dennis the Menace!

Eeyar La!
Traffic jam – countryfile style

*no actual unicorns were injured in this picture because (a) it’s inflatable and (b) unicorns don’t live in the Yorkshire Dales.

 FYI, just a heads up that it’s also not a real gun.  She won it on the Hook a Duck – not my first choice of prize but what can you do?