Posts Tagged ‘Skin up’


Maureen, will you come back to Ally-Pally to take back that Pangea with me tomorrow?’, I implored doubtfully, as it was Sunday and I knew there was no way she’d want to drive (considering she does that journey every day for work). ‘I’ll pick you up.’

Sure,’ she replied, ‘I can’t wait to see Mark Chatfield’s face when you’re screaming at it! Lol.’

So off we went that sunny Sunday afternoon to Ally-Pally to return the offending infra-red hand warmer. We slunk up to the stall and I approached the apparent MD (a bit of a spiv) and presented my red shaking hands for him to see.

I think your machine is faulty because it’s burnt my hands and made them go numb, they’re ten times worse than they were! My friend had to drive me here today because I can’t drive and I can’t type and I type for a living!’, I told him, my voice quivering.

He looked surprised, mumbled an apology and said that this had ‘never happened before’. He asked me to wait to see Mark and we sat ourselves down, ready to do battle. After a few minutes Mark decided to give me his attention and I showed him my hands.

This has never happened before’, he said, ‘I wonder what we could do?’

I think you could give me my money back, as this is obviously not the product for me’, I said. Without a quibble or need of a threat, he refunded my money and we left the vicinity, almost disappointed that no scene was made that day.



Caring McGee

When we go to the shops, Ms Pietersons becomes McGee – McGee is a seeing/hearing dog in training and she is ever so kind, she helps the aged and sick children and she has permission to go wherever she likes.

 A couple of weeks ago Maureen suggested that we take her into Waitrose and so we popped her in the trolley, trying (albeit unsuccessfully) to cover her with my coat.

The first manager we encountered, laughed and turned a blind eye, as did the rest of the staff and managers in the store that day.

However, there was one small blip when she barked and snapped at a child and Ms Pieterson’s disguise was blown.

‘Oh dear, McGee.



Five Jam Doughnuts

Son made chocolate covered strawberries & marshmallows at school today, so yesterday morning I stopped off at M&S to get the strawberries because they always look so nice (even if they don’t taste that great), I also picked up the marshmallows but there was no cooking chocolate. As I was up the road getting a Starbucks, I popped into Sainsburys to get the chocolate and while I was there I picked up a pack of five jam doughnuts. At around 4.00, while everyone was out, I made a cup of tea and popped two doughnuts in a bowl and went to bed to watch the Real Housewives of Orange County. Three doughnuts left. Not long after, whilst tapping on the iPad, I absent mindedly cut a third in half and ate it, closely followed by the second half. I felt so ill – I smoked a spliff and lay on the sofa, clutching my stomach, which felt like I’d eaten three lead balloons. So then there were two. JD ate one, leaving the last, which was consumed by Son and Lurky, leaving zero for anybody else, much to my shame.






Stink Man

Stink Man is so called because he stinks, obviously. The way he smells is this; a mixture of unwashed body, unwashed clothes and poo. Let me say, he is a good person (!!) and he joins us every Christmas for lunch, under strict orders that he is to wash, everything. Just this last Christmas he was very presentable and we all agreed that we could not smell him, much to everyone’s relief. Stink Man does my accounts and it’s tax return time, so it was important that he visited yesterday. Well, he was honking. Last time he visited, we brought in an old garden chair and removed our stylish new ‘diner style’ chairs from sight. However,  yesterday I was unprepared and so he brought my lovely chair into the office and sat down next to me – I held my scarf over my face for the duration. Honey clocked him sitting on the new chair and suggested (strongly) that I go and get a garden chair for him because, ‘He’s too heavy for those chairs!’ Stink Man reluctantly accepted the metal garden chair and during the change-over I noticed a smudge of poo – honestly! – on my lovely blue kitchen chair! I hastily got a Dettox wipe and scrubbed the smudge away, my heart beating fast; luckily, dare I say, it was ‘fresh’ and easily removed. While I was sitting on the sofa a little while later, reading my book, he approached me, hovering threateningly, at which point I silently prayed that he would not sit down and thank fuck my prayer was answered.



Going South

In times gone by I have always known ‘going south’ to mean:

Performing cunnilingus or fellatio on a partner:-  He went south on me last night.

Unfortunately, today it means something very different:-

To take a turn for the worse:- My tits are going south.

I only noticed it the other day, I thought, ‘Hey, my tits seem to be going south!’ – don’t get me wrong, they’re not saggy, they’re just lower!?

I was counting back from 1968 to work out whether I am 45 or 46 and Inky confirmed that I am 45 because she is 44. I am at my ideal weight, I keep fit, I wear a sports bra but there’s definite movement south and this, I feel, can’t be a good thing.

Up a bit please


2013’s Over

I seem to have entered 2014 full of anxiety and vitriol. Leading up to new year I was on an even keel; relaxing, sleeping, keeping up my walking, I was even doing some sort of meditation work and affirmations late into the night, which made me feel quite light and ‘open to the universe’. I was feeling thankful for all I have in my life and was feeling kindly towards humanity. However, when I was awoken at around 11.00 a.m.  today, I found myself in a stinking mood and it has not shifted one iota, in fact it has settled in, so much so, even my cat’s pissing me off.

* Affirmations interrupted *


Child of the World

Tonight I went to church with Maureen to see LJ sing in the choir. I was actually brought up on Christmas carols having gone to a church primary school but organised religion of any denomination is really not my thing. I studied Kabbalah a few years ago but couldn’t quite don the religious cloak, taking it more for its general self-help qualities, ‘Get in the driving seat’, it challenged. More recently I played around with a couple of Jehova’s who rattled my cage and I studied the Bible with them on a Sunday morning.  However, they had to go when they kept suggesting I go with them to their place of worship. Not for me. So tonight in church we sang carols and it reminded me of what a load of bollocks religion is. The only thing I like about Christmas is the break, the standstill, no early mornings, TV in bed; I hate Christmas trees, (tinsel, baubles, etc), Christmas cards, Christmas lights, Santa Claus and all that goes with him. I realise now that I don’t have any religion, I am just a Child of the World and I have my own rules and I see it my own way and that works for me. Fuck religion.







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