Roll on the Great British Bank Holiday. A delightful long weekend in which important, tired and hard-working people get to rest their weary heads, and less important but equally as tired and hard-working FTM’s get to, quite frankly, carry on regardless. A joyful time in which the Great British Public love to either a) inebriate themselves over three consecutive days, whilst manning a succession of dwindling tinfoil BBQs in the pissing rain, wearing T-shirt and shorts, b) spend quality time with husbands, wives, partners and children, engaging in cohesive and incredibly fun activities, such as Twister, Jenga and Junior Trivial Pursuit or c) a bit of both, more commonly known as boozed-up childcare in the rain. Whichever way you choose to spend your Bank Holiday though, one thing is for sure: The Great British Bank Holiday simply wouldn’t be the same without a Great British Queue.
Continue reading “The Great British Bank Holiday”
The GR has resurrected herself. Bang on cue. Just in time for Easter. It’s Day 1 of the “holidays” and her timing is impeccable once again. Her little-black-cloak has been dry-cleaned, in honour of the numerous jollifications planned and her scythe has been sharpened, ready to strike anyone or anything that, quite frankly, has the audacity to Gd’dam breathe. Approach at your own risk.
Continue reading “The Resurrection”
Happy April Fool’s Day to all you old Fools out there. Another ludicrous day to mark something or other ridiculous. With its origins dating all the way back to the 14th Century, apparently April Fool’s Day is good for one’s health – a tonic to encourage laughter, diminish stress and reduce the strain on one’s heart. That would be for all of 24 hours. And then it’s back to normal Folks – we can carry on being miserable buggers. Phew. Continue reading “Call me a Fool, but…”
So here’s the thing. For the past year or so, I’ve been involved in an arrangement. A you-scratch-my-back-and-i’ll scratch-yours type of thing. In fact, I could easily go as far as to call it a relationship. A mutually beneficial, reciprocal kind of relationship, which saw its inception at the school gates. At first I was dubious, but after several rides, I was hooked. And so was She. Soon there was little alternative – we’d be lost without each other. Continue reading “Car Share”
It’s that time of year again. Another day to commemorate something or other incredibly meaningful. But this time it’s not International Day of Happiness (that was last week apparently), World Health Day (that’s next week, if you’re interested), or Global Wind Day (this one’s in June, if you celebrate making wind). No, today is all about Me. It’s Mothering Sunday, again. Gosh how quickly time flies. And this year is no different to the past 8 as Mum. Continue reading “Mothering Sunday: The T’s and C’s”
Apparently I have a new pet name. I call it a “pet”name in a last-ditch attempt to glean even the tiniest scrap of cuddly, candy-floss cuteness from it’s damn-right pettiness. Today and only today, I am willing to call it a “pet” name, in the spirit of February 14th (AKA Valentine’s Day), on which day surely everyone is entitled to a bit of petting. However, on every other day, it’s a nick name at best, an insult at worst. Continue reading “The G.R”
Recently, I was out on an adult-only evening which involved completing a meal in its entirety, whilst simultaneously engaging in civilised conversation, when my very adult friend asked if I would like to join her new book club. A book club? [I scoffed]. Now there’s a laugh. Isn’t that where grown-ups meet on a regular basis to unlock the hidden depths and common threads running through mutually selected texts, whilst nibbling on fancy flavoured nuts and tippling on tiny tots of sherry? My very adult friend took a sip of her robust-looking red, whilst I choked on my neon-looking pop and declined her invitation promptly. Captain Underpants and the Attack of the Talking Toilets would be lost on her club.
Continue reading “Diary of a Wimpy Mum”
There’s something about heels that makes a woman feel good. Whether or not we look good is an entirely different matter. However, the fact remains that tall heels, kitten heels, stiletto heels, cone heels, spool heels, chunky heels – whatever your preference, heels make us feel sh*t hot. For there’s something about slipping into a pair of heels that instantly transforms a woman. From skivvy to sexy, elephant to elegant, mum to MILF. No matter who she becomes, the woman in heels has elevated herself to a whole new level. And she means business. Continue reading “Hot Heels”
Have you gone a-mothering today? Chances are you haven’t. And never will. Unless of course, you are a Catholic or Protestant Christian, who has returned to the church in which you were baptised, for a commemorative Laetare Sunday service? Or perhaps you are a domestic servant who has been granted a whole day off to visit church with your mother and other family members? Now that’s more like it. Well, the domestic servant bit. Continue reading “Smothering Mumday”
Last week someone, who shall remain anonymous, came to me with a problem. It was quite out of character. And it was quite out of the blue. A shocking self-discovery that took myself and this someone, who shall remain anonymous, rather by surprise.
As problems go, it wasn’t catastrophic. There was no narcotic addiction, there was no other man, there were no gambling debts. Thank Goodness, there was no terminal illness, no manic depression, no mid-life crisis. In fact, this particular problem was less a problem and more a stark observation. And as with a common cold or a niggling cough, the problem was actually uncomplicated. Easily self-remedied, given half the chance. But by its very simplistic nature, it was all the more startling. Continue reading “Tickle Me Quick”