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Back in the game

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Today was the start of my phased return to work.  Just an hour a day for this week and then building up eventually to full days.

Baby steps.

Had to have a return to work risk assessment meeting today with some form-filling. Presumably to clarify that I wasn’t going to sit in the book corner wearing a tin foil hat and babbling about voices like the Son of Sam killer.


I came home and did a mammoth work out on my step and my other gizmo. Health Health Health.
    I’m not bothered so much about being slim and svelte. I’d rather be firmed up and strong.  Like Sarah Connor in Terminator 2. \

She rocks!



Always best to be prepared for the artificial intelligence uprising. (It’ll start with those Alexa, Echo gizmos, you mark my words!)  Or a zombie invasion. Whichever… Although I went to the post office this afternoon and it’s quite possible that the zombie apocalypse has already begun and we just haven’t noticed yet.  The irony of the song ‘Across 110th Street’ by Bobby Womack, on my MP3 was not lost on me as I was stood in the queue with the toothless and unkempt of the neighbourhood.  (FYI Bman, ‘Across 110th Street’ is nothing to do with, “that film about Father Christmas” – I think you’ll find that is ‘Miracle on 34th Street’ – FFS!)

Easy to be this positive on day one though.  I may go to pieces again before the week’s out.

Ciao Tutti


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


High 5 yourself if you’re still alive after 2016

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So it’s the final day of the year 2016 and time for my annual review.


Essentially, in the words often used in our house, when we were kids, when providing a synopsis of a film plot – “Everybody died”.  The day is still young so there is still time for Death to pull more names from his hat of finality.  This year has seen him taking rather too many for my liking.  For now though at least, I am still here and so are my nearest and dearest, which is what matters.

Despite the celebrity death toll, 2016 hasn’t been completely unfortunate for me.  I  have survived a cull of a different kind at work (for now at least), which saw other friends sadly fall by the wayside. My role has changed. It’s busier and often more stressful but do you know what? I still have a job and in these harsh times, I am grateful for that.

We have a new Prime Minister. Brexit happened – sort of – not yet – who knows when that shit will get sorted out!  There’s a new & controversial President of the USA. We lost British Homes Stores and it looks as though we lost Bea Smith on Wentworth too.


Socially I have reconnected with old friends not seen for many years, and that has been a highlight for me and reassuring to know that after all these years, they are still cheeky, lovable cunts. I may not have a massive circle of friends and I may not go out all that often, but I love the friends I do have.  I have even been asked to perform 2 marriage ceremonies for 2 different friends in 2017!


I have spent quality time with my girlies. My youngest is now in High School.  We’ve done a festival with my sibs.  I finally visited Brighton after threatening it for years. Had a great family holiday to Tenerife.  I have a new niece in Liverpool.  Bman and I have managed another year of not killing one another. We have a new kitchen (and another cat to shit in it). 

What’s next for 2017?  

     Investigating a haunted house next week.  Hooking up with old friends again in Bishop’s Stortford in March. A family holiday to Florida in April. A mum & girlies week in Tenerife at the end of July.  A return to Shambala festival in August and two weddings to officiate.  Also hoping to do Brighton Pt2 – The Return of the killer hangover, and get to see the lovely ‘Crap Possee Official’ at some stage, because it’s been far too long.  Looking forward to a Cards Against Humanity rematch including Bman, my brother & his girlfriend.  If only to see if we can possibly top my bro-in-law whispering the words, “erm, it’s dick cheese Paul” to my dad.


What could go wrong?

So, to summarize, in traditional picture form:-





Essentially how I have felt all year!


Baby Alan Lickman




Big fat Alan Lickman – in festive attire



Remember to trust your cunt in 2017!



Stay alive y’all. Be happy. Don’t take any shit. Brush your teeth. Try not to be too much of an asshole and remember that a little bit of what you fancy does you good.


Is it Halloween yet?

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So, how’s it going on the old positivity scale since my return to the coalface?

Well. Week 3 and I already feel like a shell of my summer holiday relaxed and calm self. A costume of a woman with a grimace of a smile dripping off my face at a rate of knots.  Nursery one minute, changing pants and the next I’m discussing the meaning of life (it’s 42 BTW) with Upper Keystage 2.  I have to check my diary at every changeover to check that I’m heading to the right class.


Monies worth = out of me? Yes.  I think so.

The silver lining of this headwreck of a new role is that the extra wedge in my monthly pay means that I reckon I am good for paying for next year’s Griswold family jolly to WallyDisneyworld.  That’s if I’m not on a liver transplant waiting list from all the gin I may have to consume to get me through until then.

Meanwhile. On another topic.  Having had my IUD coil removed, my periods have started up again.  This is not good.  I’d forgotten how annoying they are and how much I want to eat chocolate in the lead up to all that.  This is playing havoc with my mission to shift 10kg of excess timber.  I may need to take up smoking again, or amphetamines or something.


Pretty sure the Bman might overtake me on this weight loss gig as he’s been surviving on grout fumes and hard graft the past 2 weeks trying to finish off our new kitchen.  The kitchen we haven’t decided whether we like or not.  The worktop is already scratched.  The oven doesn’t match the rest. We’ve got a plumber coming out on Thursday to get to the bottom of the rank stench emanating from beneath the washing machine and the laminate floor still needs to be done and tiling to be finished.  He’s gone back to work this week for a rest!

I may blog some more in another 3 weeks if and when I can summon the energy.

Ciao for now dudes


Would it be ok if I just stayed in bed until August?

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i want to get off

Ever get that debilitating overwhelming sense that you have failed as a mother by becoming a mother in the first place? 

That every decision you’ve ever made has been somehow crap, wrong or downright stupid?  Do you catch your breath and almost sick up a bit in your mouth because the children you had (for your own selfish reasons) will have to one day leave you and fend for themselves in a world full of crazies, loons, idiots and fucktards – and that’s after you’ve subjected them to a flawed education system and screwed them up on all kinds of levels by exposing them to your own uselessness?

What have I done to my children by having them in the first place?

That nausea you feel on the way to the job that you now feel fraudulent at.  People there are under the deluded impression that you know what you’re doing.  That you are cleverer than you are.  They seek you out for advice you no longer (if you ever were) feel qualified to give.



Have had a most relaxing week off this half term.  Been swimming, which always makes me feel better – nothing better than this for me:-


But then I get back topside and start overthinking and I get this:-


Common sense will eventually prevail:-


Today though I just felt like I was not worthy to participate in the real world, and by real world I mean the closeted bubble I float around in.  Ended up hiding in the stock cupboard at one point and considering raiding the cache of children’s inhalers.  Managed to make it through first day back without freaking out but can’t vouch for being able to keep it together tomorrow when the punters are in!

Until my flipped out mind regains some sensible equilibrium I aim to focus on the fact that we have actually booked a holiday abroad for later in the year, where I hope to look and feel like this:-


But to be honest, will probably be more like this:-


pictures courtesy of google images

I can’t think of a title for this post so it doesn’t have one…

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Friday was not a 10 out of 10 day for me.  😦   I spent most of Friday evening in a state of quiet melancholy, stewing over every last  mistake I ever made and every tiny slight I’ve ever felt (that’s a whole lot of slights – I’m more sensitive than I look).  How have I got to 43 years of age and be so unsuccessfully average?

      I then made the mistake of looking online at how much the salary is these days for the type of job I used to have as a secretary/P.A.  I shouldn’t have done that.  It did me no good.  I can’t even tell you how much more it is than I earn right now, it’s too depressing.   This then lead to further despair at how I have failed my children in depriving them of a better home in a more salubrious area due to the job I have chosen. One where parents of my students don’t have fights in the street after threatening each others children.  (True story of the week!)
Bman could have a decent car if we both earned a decent wage.  One that lasts more than two days (second true story of the week).  The Fiesta we had at the start of the week has gone back to the dealership and Bman is back on his bike.  Not exactly ideal transport in this weather.  

..and your little dog too!

..and your little dog too!

The one thing that has put a smile on my face is that my new mattress arrived today.  (At my age I am easily pleased).  Until Bman gets a new vehicle we have no way of ditching the old one so at the moment we have a double mattress situation.  Princess and the pea times. 

Perhaps tonight I’ll get a better night’s sleep where I don’t lie awake stewing, pondering, letting my mind fester and wallow. Imagining ending my days as one of those old women who’s been dead in her favourite chair for weeks before anyone notices I’m missing. No savings, no pension, frozen to death in her own home and half eaten by cats.
Let’s hope so… *

* I mean hope that I sleep well, not that I end up getting eaten by my own cats

This blog is all over the place today. Much like myself.

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New job title of the week:  Bovine by-product redistribution agent


First there was this:-

Then my MiL spake (it’s a word) the prophetic words  “How long will it take before some other child decides to copycat?”

Barely a day later there was this:-

    Wales teacher death plot

and this:-

     Primary school poison plot


I won’t lie.  I’m pretty sure I’m on a list, and likely very high up, and not in the Do Not Harm column either.
Perhaps not so much this year, but to use a fave word of Gene Genie’s,
‘deffo’ the last few years.  I reckon it’d be like the final reveal in Murder on the Orient Express.  In fact I’d wager that I’m on at least 2 members of staff’s mental hit-list.  (I don’t think any of them are at that stage yet of actually having a real written list.)   However, it could happen.

Form an orderly queue people…

Worrying and shameful times indeed.


but keep your wits about you more than ever!

Meanwhile, a good SAT’s question for my lovely eldest offspring for next week’s exams, might go a little something like this:-

  If a bath is running at approximately 1000ml per 6 seconds and the plug goes in at 1830. You add a bathbomb at 1835 then disappear to listen to music on your iPad while your mother is ironing downstairs.  Who gets the blame first when your father yells upstairs that there is water dripping through the kitchen ceiling and all hell breaks loose at 1900?


No damage done really other than to pride and feelings but now it seems I will have to sit and observe the bath filling operation myself, as everybody in the house has the memory of a goldfish,  the attention span of a fruit fly & the short-temper of Gordon Ramsay.


Just for the record – if I were to organise a new system to improve communication, I’d make sure said system was well hidden.  Perhaps under a table, beneath a bunch of takeaway menus & a clothing catalogue for people who need elastic waisted jeans and kaftans.  It makes perfect sense.   Just saying.