Christmas Part One

Christmas time missletoe and wine - sings dear old cliff
So this is Christmas and what have you done – sings John Lennon
They said it would snow this Christmas, but instead it just kept on raining – sang I think it was Emerson Lake and Palmer but that could be totally wrong...... this christmas it actually did snow and that was lovely

The run up to christmas is nice on one hand, the fairy lights and urm the fairy lights and on another the endless spending, wrapping, shopping until your fingers ache and i do get a bit bah humbug..........and I do look at marketing strategies, after Halloween everything ends up being marked down to 20p (yipppeee the joy) then the shelves are cleared for the large tins of Quality Street, Heroes and Roses. Some shops are doing them buy one get one free at £10 each, others are £5 each and the really cheeky shops are trying to get £7.

The free instore magazines are heaving with promises of top tips for a credit crunch Christmas. I have spent the month flicking through various magazines, looking at roasted turkeys, delighted family faces, children all cosy in dressing gowns with wonder in their eyes, oh yeah and lots of adverts for three piece suites (delivered in time for Christmas). So the three kings did they follow the star to the nearest dfs? Was jesus laid in a manger, Did they think that God loved them because they could get nought per cent finance and nothing to pay for two years, before the easy repayment terms kicked in? I am cynical and the greed and excess are bad enough, but the obligation, expectation and fakeness of it all leaves me the coldest Grinch ever. This year I am working on my own Alternative Christmas and will be back to tell all very soon

Mahoo………………………..

So many men, so little time.....

Makes: 25 Gingerbread Men (people as the pc brigade would say!)

Preparation time : 20 minutes
Cooking time : 10 minutes
Total time : 30 minutes


Ingredients

125g unsalted butter
100g dark muscovado sugar
4 tbsp golden syrup
325g plain flour
1 tsp bicarbonate of soda
2 tsp ground ginger
Supercook Writing Icing (optional)

Method

1. Preheat the oven to 170°C, gas mark 3. Line baking trays with baking parchment. Melt the butter, sugar and syrup in a medium saucepan, stirring occasionally, then remove from the heat.
2. Sieve the flour, bicarbonate of soda and ginger into a bowl and stir the melted ingredients into the dry ingredients to make a stiff dough.
3. Turn out onto a lightly floured surface and roll to a thickness of about 5mm. Dip biscuit cutters into flour before cutting the dough, or cut around templates, which you can find at waitrose.com/christmas. Place the shapes onto the lined baking trays and bake, in batches, for 9-10 minutes until light golden brown.
4. Remove from the oven. While still warm, and using a skewer or chopstick, make any holes that you will need to hang up the biscuits with ribbon or to make a yuletide garland. If you are decorating your Christmas cake with gingerbread people, make the holes in their arms so that ribbon can be threaded through at a later stage.
5. When completely cool, decorate with the icing. The gingerbread biscuits can be stored in an airtight container for up to two weeks (yeah right, they only last that long if they are lousy, and mine of course lasted just 24 hours!)

Dove Photoshoot

The long awaited Dove Photoshoot story .............

I had booked off the 8/9th September way back in June when I found out I had been shortlisted for my beauty tip, now if i could only remember which of the following three it was

a) for a warm rosie glow to a dull complexion try drinking three cans of merrydown cider
b) Before going to bed at night try taking off your clothes
c) If you have leftover Vitamin E capsules pierce one with a badge and mix it with your normal face cream before you go to bed at night. It gives you a vitamin boost the most expensive face creams include but at a fraction of the cost.

Oh ok, I reckon it is c), but in my experience a or even b work just as well.

Now, I haven’t read the small print I wonder if they want to include me in me big pants and off white bra for the photoshoot and put the group snap on all the stage coach buses in Manchester, now that’s what I call pissing off my kids. For that reason alone I will so sign that permission slip, Dove bring it on………………


I was met at Euston by the girls who worked for the marketing team handleing the Dove account, she even had a board with my name on it! There were an overall of 21 winners in attendance for the next couple of days, our first thing was to get taken to our hotel, we checked in at around 5.00pm to the Kensington Hilton, checked out my room (took me 10 mins to find the light switch then realised I had to use the card I used to get in the room to keep the lights on) made myself a nice cup of tea and opened the complementary (or so I thought) water that had a price on of £3.95, these London folk obviously haven’t experienced the pleasures of quality save/Home bargains – depending where you live in the country.

We were to meet up in the bar for pre dinner drinks and to get to know each other at 7.30pm, this was very nice, we were given badges with group 1, 2 or 3 on but could sit anywhere we wanted for the meal, we were all loosened up by a few glasses of white wine and we met up with the Marketing team handling the Dove account, A unilever scientist, the photographer and others connected with our photo shoot experience the next day. After the lovely meal which consisted of goats cheese and tomatoe flan with salad for starters, main dish of five spiced chicken with mash and green beans, finishing with chocolate and orange torte, quaffed down with more white wine.

We were all given a bar tab and a goody bag (how wonderful to receive both in the same sentence, I was in heaven).

After a couple of pints of lager and a good old chin wag with the last gals standing I finished with a double amaretto at the bar (which was almost the price of a bottle of the stuff wholesale from Costco!) I tootled off to bed at around 2.00am, and foolishly showered and washed my hair ready for the shoot, I awoke to my wakeup call on the phone at 6.45am and did wonder where I was for a second or two, then i wondered why my tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth, ah yes, that wonderful bar tab, a full cooked breakfast was waiting for me and I didn’t have to so much as crack at egg on the side of a frying pan, wonderful. I enjoyed it in a way only an off duty mum can enjoy being looked after, I had two large mugs of coffee and read a paper, and all this before the pampering was due to start! I had a chat to one of the other finalists who told me she actually liked cooking (I am always a little shocked at such a statement, then I found out she worked part time, which more than explained it)

The coach collected us at 9.00ish and we went on our way to the Worx in Kensington, past all the nannies and bodyguards dutifully taking their charges to school, straw hats and satchels, the area was very leafy. Once inside we were given a talk about the day, it would include us splitting into our groups, group one (my group) was to go to hair and makeup then wardrobe before our shoot, this involved us heading to a huge studio wear we were given fluffy bathrobes and slippers with Dove/Asda Campaign for real beauty embroidered on (oh yes I felt part of a very important team, forget the CIA forget MI5 I have arrived!) bowls of chocolates and posh bottled water and lots of copies of all the top mags awaiting us as we chilled and waited our turn.

I wasn’t nervous, which is to say I saw professionals whose sole aim was to make us look passable and knew that’s what they would do (who says you cant make a silk purse out of a sows ear?) after what I saw that day I know you can indeed

The shoot was fun, the warm up of moving about on the spot in different poses (like when you wait ages at the bus stop and keep moving cos your legs have gone fizzy), hands in front jeans pockets, back, jump up in the air, (I was dying to say, “hey whats my motivation”, but didn’t) it was much fun.

We broke for a lovely lunch of various wraps and French fries, lots of nice juices and cake.

Back upstairs for some group shots moving around, the clothes speck was jeans with bare feet and white/grey/pale blue tops and for us to look natural and unmade up so all jewelry and watches were removed. ALthogh the unmade up makeup look was strong, i looked like a baddy out of an old black and white film, they put brown powder on my eyebrows, I was assured this was so i didnt disappear into the white backgroud, like casper?

Finished the shoot and it was time for the pamper room, back and shoulder massages, manicure, pedicure, full arm and feet massages all whilst eating minstrels and quality street and looking through the September/October issues of the finest fashion magazines the shelves at w h smith has to offer……… I didn’t want it to end, but end it did, as I collected by stuff and headed to the car I ended up with more Dove products than enough which were gratefully received by my daughter on landing back in my real life.

Thats all I have to say about that

Mahoooo

Letter to the Samaritans

Dear Samaritans

My 16 year old thinks she should be able to stay over at her boyfriends and he should stay over here (he is also 16) they have been going out for about 3 months and are clearly smitten, he is a lovely lad. She also thinks i should have let her go to festivals this summer (neither of us had the cash for the tickets) and that she should be able to book them both in a hotel in London for a long weekend. Did i mention she is only 16?? also, after a long day at work she greated me with the following questions

1. I need a laptop to do my college work
2. Can my boyfriend stay over at the weekend
3. Can i have £10 for a concert i am going to tomorrow night

all this and i havent even got my coat off?

Oh yes, my weekend? I spent saturday doing housework and food shopping and sunday tending to my father in laws grave, planting bulbs etc whilst I listened to a stressed out couple have a blazing row about the price of flowers,how tight one thought the other was then he called her a "tight arsed effin likkle bitch" there were plenty of other expletives, I wanted to cover father in laws ears, surely peace and quiet in a cematary isnt too much to ask for? the people who live in my vicinity dont sit down and have discussions they fight, drink and argue in public, I have tried so hard to be more than that, but with a teenager who thinks she is right and i am unreasonable who is to say if i have done a good job. Plus she smells of fags and as she has no visible means of income, surely that means i am funding that habbit too?

Sorry about this pleading email, and I have to say the highlight really was planting crocuses in purple and gold (the Wexford colours) knowing they will come up in the spring and whatever else has gone pearshaped that week at least I will have something nice to look at. I couldnt feel any worse if I tried and the muscle under my eye keeps twitching, my right heal is torture since i slipped off that curb last month and I think I may have a water infection.

Thanks for listening,

you are still there arent you????



Mahooooooooooooooooooooooo

Ricky, Las Vegas a Lucky year begins!

November 2008


Saturday 17th November 2008, page 27 of the Manchester Evening News the head line read “Win the trip of a lifetime to see Ricky fight in Las Vegas”……

One lucky winner will win a three night trip for two to Las Vegas leaving on Thursday staying in the MGM Grand Casino and tickets to the eagerly anticipated clash between The Hitman and Pauli “The Magic” Malignaggie next Saturday. All you have to do is answer this question: Who is the only fighter to beat Ricky Hatton?

Answer: Floyd Mayweather Junior (the junior bit being the most crucial as his father was also a boxer and now a trainer).

And this is how it all began………………………. I had sent the competition using hubs email address as I felt that would be *“lucky”, I gave full contact details and clicked send.

Later my son asked if we would be getting the fight next week and hubs said yes, when he left the living room I said, “if I win it you will have to go and take him, it would seem wrong for me to take up a seat watching the boxing when I don’t have any real interest”. And that is what happened I won. The competition was in the paper on the Saturday, the following Monday (yes just two days later) the winner would receive a phone call at 5.00pm to tell them they had won. I went to work as usual and just as I was turning off my pc, the phone rang it was hubs in shock, I managed to get the good news that we had won, and after assuring him that our sons passport was in date, he made the phone call to said Son to tell him that no we wouldn’t be ordering the fight on sky, because he would be attending, I seem to remember his reply went something like this @#x$ @$$, which under the circumstances was an understandable reaction. He had just started a new job and had to double check that booking holiday leave at such short notice was ok, and they very kindly signed his leave card. Hubs being a self employed painter and decorator left a hall, stairs and landing in Heaton Chapel, Stockport, half done. Over the next couple of days English pounds were changed for US dollars (I raided the Christmas savings for this) passports dusted off, weather reports checked (at least 9 hours of sunshine even in November) and two large holdalls were packed. The flight tickets and Hotel confirmation arrived on the Wednesday, The taxi was booked for 7.30am for Thursday and the boys were off.

The rest of the story should really be told by the boys themselves but as this is my book I’ll do the telling based on the stories that flowed from their jetlagged jibber jabber.

Ricky Hatton in Vegas – the boys story

Thursday
My son tells me his dad was in complete shock from our house in the taxi to the airport and on checking in their luggage must have looked at the date on his passport at least six times. My husband tells me our son was in stunned silence in the taxi and for most of the first flight. They boarded their first flight which was from Manchester to Chicago, and enjoyed various in-flight movies, nice food and attentive flight staff. From Chicago they flew to Las Vegas, I am told they shared a taxi with a couple from Liverpool who were also there to see the fight, though not staying at the MGM Grand, and grand it certainly was, they handed in their confirmation and in return were given a swipe cards for their room with Ricky and Pauli on, the hotel has over 5,000 rooms, they stayed on the 10th floor at the end of a very long corridor. On opening the door to what would be their room for the next three nights, shock was the first thing that registered, the splendour, which to be honest must have been a major culture shock to them both, I mean as nice as Welsh seaside Bed and Breakfast are, well they are not quite the MGM Grand.

They had a queen sized bed each and the bathroom was three times the size of the one we have at home. They spruced themselves up and were out “on the strip” just soaking in the atmosphere and warmth of the place, wearing shorts (it had been freezing when they left Manchester, and amazingly they had seen snow in Chicago on the first leg of their journey, then into Vegas and sunshine) it seemed like madness. They ate at “Dicks last Resort” and had chicken and ribs, unfortunately as Son wasn’t yet 21 he couldn’t drink so it was cokes for him, he said he didn’t mind he wanted to keep his head clear to take in as much of this wonderful “Once in a lifetime” experience as he could.

Friday

After a breakfast in a local diner, they set off for a day of exploring.

The treasure island with a full sized galleon complete with real actors and actresses, the Hard rock hotel, we actually walked to this and just as we got there the free bus was pulling in.



Saturday

Up early to try out the MGM Grand Buffet, costing just $25 a piece it sounded like an experience not to be missed. The dining area was the biggest they had ever seen, on starting off with fresh orange juice (to be counted as one of your five) next they went for a cooked breakfast of eggs, bacon, sausage, tomatoes, prawns, chop sui, ribs, chicken curry, fried rice, fahittas, chapattis, poached salmon, and when (and only when) we only had the room to have a coffee.

My husband thought they might be ejected from the dining area on two counts of greed and offending the locals. Not to mention eating at least two days worth of food in one sitting, still I think we can safely say they got their moneys worth.

Even a light stroll was out of the question, so they boarded the monorail down to the Stratosphere, took an elevator to the top, admittedly it was ill advised but as they were there they decided to get on the ride, after being strapped in it shot them 50 feet in the air, the most amazing thing was they didn’t part company with their “breakfast” (if that’s what you can call it) the rest of the day they strolled along the strip marvelling at the splendour of the hotels. Caesar’s Palace, The Venation, the Bellagio with its dancing fountains. They went back to their luxurious room and slept for a couple of hours to get in shape for the big fight later on .zzzzzzzzzz

The Fight

To be so far from home but surrounded by familiar faces and mancuanian accents was strange. We had great seats but ended up with even better ones, as we approached the desk to enter the arena the receptionist said “let me take those and upgrade you”, this was totally unexpected) David Beckham, Sly Stallone, Oasis band members sat behind them. The had seen Max Beesley and his father on the way in Patrick Kielty being shown to his seat.

The Gallagher brothers walked in with Ricky and the fight began, my son tells me his dad screamed so loudly he lost his voice cheering for this home-grown hero. Ricky won, the fight ended on a stoppage the boy done good a perfect end to a perfect day.

My husband did actually say “look don’t ask me any more, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. My son told me later we were knackered and in bed by 10.30pm each night.

Sunday and home

They awoke for the last time in their spacious room, packed up and had a few more precious hours to buy last minute souvenirs, and to say goodbye to the heat, the happiness and a wonderful nought pence experience.


My Story
Saturday

Meanwhile back in a small suburb of Manchester …………I was awoken by the sound of a parcel dropping into my letter box, I sauntered down stairs and saw the small white jiffy bag, picked it up and whilst making myself a lovely cuppa to take back to bed in my very silent home I opened it to find a Signed copy of New Gold Dream by Simple minds.

Later on I played it in the kitchen whilst I did my allotted two hours of housework thinking that little old me from Stretford had won
“The experience of a lifetime” I had been good enough to forfeit my trip and allow my first born to enjoy this experience with his father, a bonding exercise, I hope he appreciated it.

I felt like Joan of arc! One day in the distant future my son may think about Vegas and remember a time when his mother sacrificed an experience of a lifetime for him…….

Punch, Judy and childhood fear!

Punch and Judy and general fear!


As soon as I got out of the car at llandudno I heard a sound that made me at once want to run and hide “dats der way da do it”, I felt the hairs on my spine stand on end, the shiver went all the way to my head until I actually shuddered.

I am of course talking about a Punch and Judy show, supposedly a seaside treat for children of all ages. For me it spells out fear, I can remember being a very confused child watching this horror show it should have come with a warning like the films do now
May include scenes of a violent nature


Is it the stripy tent, where at least one maybe two people are behind conjuring the violence, sausages, the baby being thrown around, the crocodile or a combination of everything? I am catapulted back to my smaller self watching this show with horror and trying to make sense of it all.

There were other times I was puzzled and fearful growing up, I was at the scout huts annual bonfire and when they brought the “guy” out and threw him on the fire I was in complete shock, no one noticed as sparklers where whisked through the sky, children trying quickly to write their names in the darkness, the Smokey bonfire, the excitement of being out in the dark a little later than usual and me wondering what kind of a place Reddish really was to burn a human being (albeit a bad ‘en) I had a big brother who had told me that the guy they put on the bonfire is someone that the whole of reddish have decided is a bad man, so you see what I was seeing being burnt (in my ill informed mind) was a real person, not just two pairs of American tan tights fashioned into arms and legs and dressed in old clothes this was a real live person (I have not been able to watch the Wickerman as it brings back the same scary feelings). The worst of it was I remember keeping very quiet about the whole affair, self preservation kicked in and maybe I thought if I mentioned it, I could be cast out of this society..(and I am only 6 I still need my mum – no wonder I wet the bed with fright!)

There was another time that springs to mind, Reddish Carnival used to start off from station road, and we lived at 2 Buckley street, just off station road, so we saw all the excitement of the start of it, there was a riding school who decided to dress up as cowboys and another local riding school dressed up as Indians (there had only been cowboys in previous years) I was a little puzzled by the Indians and big brother again told me they were in town to kidnap children, I remember running all the way home and hiding behind the settee in complete terror, not coming out, when my mum got the story out of me, Michael was in big trouble, and even more after mum discovered he had purchased a pea shooter and had a bag of dried peas ready to shoot at the Morris Dancers legs (there were some chunky thighs on show). All this came back to me as I walked home from the met station on Monday night and spotted a stripey (Loreto Grammar) blazer…. That burgundy/gold/navy striped material gives me the same fear of a Punch and Judy show, I think a psychologist would conclude it was all a bit Pavlov and his dogs……. Hmnnn

And can I just say for the record that the person who said to me “imagine a punch and judy show, but run by clowns” is a very sick individual indeed……… and possibly needs some help


Mahoo

A letter to my daughter…


You have always been “interesting”, from the moment you arrived (the wrong way round) in fact even before that, at the12 week scan the ultra sound technician informed me your placenta was low and it would need keeping at eye on, which in a way sums you up perfectly. You didn’t sleep, you wouldn’t eat, the only child I know to sniff something or lick it and pronounce “I cant eat that it smells/tastes/looks funny”.

Interesting I suppose is much better than good (i.e. boring) you were the first person to use the first aid room in a department store in the newly built Trafford centre (the Temple of Excess of the North West!) You were squirting perfume and you squirted one in your eye, the only silence I heard that afternoon was the sound of you taking up the biggest breath ever before you howled the place down, I think it served as a warning to us all perfume in your eye hurts, you cried and cried and the nurse said this was possibly the best eye wash and all natural, you smelt of Calvin Klein Eternity for days (as did your bedroom).


You liked to collect everyone’s dressing gown cord and once you had tied them together (like someone escaping from a window) you attached them to the top of the bannister upstairs, not for you walking up and down stairs in the usual way, you would hurtle yourself from the top right down, land in the kitchen where you would get out a can of aerosol “squirty cream” and squirt a mouthful before climbing mountaineer style back up to your room.

There was plenty of scary moments, but thankfully never any dull ones. You wont ever take no for an answer and the whole family can clearly remember you asking if there was a “reputable retailers” when we were on a family trip to Blackpool, you had birthday money that was burning a whole in your pocket and had seen something advertised on TV as “available from all reputable retailers”.

I have wanted to put my hands very firmly around your neck and gently squeeze, and/or massage. You have the ability to make me wonder where on earth you get all your traits from, well, as the raw ingredients were sourced from me and your dad, I guess we only have ourselves to blame, I wouldn’t (couldn’t) swap you for the world


Love Mum

Hotel from Hell

Criccieth

My first taste of North Wales was many years ago in the usual and all the more popular ‘bucket and spade’ manner, staying at a variety of good value B ‘n’ B’s on Marine Drive with an ever impressive sea view.
As I recall, we were always lucky with the weather, but maybe it’s these rose tinted glasses of mine that have altered my memory?
Safe in the knowledge that the kids would rather give the elephant man the kiss of life; this made the budget bigger and the planning simpler.
This meant we could finally treat ourselves to somewhere more sophisticated than past visits. The hotel itself? It looked great from the outside, what could possibly go wrong?

Stanley on reception seemed pleasant enough, he handed us our key to room 114, after two flights of stairs and some haphazard guessing we found said room. As we went through the keyhole there was a stench of cigarettes, the kind I haven’t smelt since you could smoke in nightclubs, even the bedding reeked. It was the smallest double room I had ever seen, I’ am talking Harry Potter’s cupboard under the stairs.
The view this time was seen through smoke tinted glasses, onto an overgrown patch of land with a rickety fire escape and bare piping. I didn’t even venture into the “en-suite”; seeing that a dressing table had had a leg sawn off to fit was enough for me (seriously who does that?)

Cutting away to the reception again, I told Stanley we couldn’t sleep in the room as my husband had asthma. He doesn’t of course, but after a nights stay I reckon we would have, and very possibly a need for an iron lung each!. As they had no other rooms available cancelled our 4 nights stay. Stanley wasn’t sure if we would incur a charge for this, we would have to wait for the manager to sort this out, who had ironically nipped of for a quick cig.

We waited a full 45 minutes and no manager came, maybe it was a cigar, maybe he was rolling it too?. Anyway, from the final straw to the first pint. I found myself in the pub opposite sipping a stiff measure of cider, whilst hubs arranged for us to stay in our usual, trusty Bed and Breakfast.
Another half pint and a generic ringtone later, there’s a return phone call from the manager, Gavin. Who kindly informed me that I would have to pay for the first night as it was too late for him to let the room, in return, I kindly informed him I had spotted a young couple smoking woodbines along the front, so maybe his luck is in?
He insisted on talking over my protests, which could only mean one thing….. a Mexican stand off in the foyer complete with itchy trigger fingers. I think Gavin was shocked at how quick I shot to the Hotel, we did some very public disagreeing and I explained very nicely that under no circumstances would I pay anything and if he did charge anything to my account he may wish he hadn’t.
in less that 7 minutes, Gavin has cut his losses and I was back in the Bryn ‘y’ Arms across the road to raise a toast to customer satisfaction as my hubs said “I didn’t come over to help as I knew you wouldn’t need me”,

A valuable lesson has been learnt; keep to the trusty seaside B and B’s

Perhaps in the same way you shouldn’t trust a book by its cover, never judge a welsh hotel, by its cladding? ( llading )…….

The Rush Show (from Boston Diaries June 08)

The Rush Show
Sunday – Mansfield – ‘just outside Boston’ (NOT)

The tickets said doors open at 7.30 prompt. I had figured out (I should have a BSc in Public Transport – put me anywhere and I will sniff it out) that we could catch the commuter train, checked the times and from Boston South Station it would cost just $6.75 each, I assumed (wrongly) that we would be able to buy a return ticket and surely there would be a return train scheduled for after the concert finished, assuming made an ass out of me (that’s the way the saying goes I think) nope, the last commuter back from Mansfield was 10.25pm and as the concert went on till 11.00pm we were not going to manage to catch that one, I should have known it was going to be tricky when I asked about getting back and the teller at the train station said, you might be better off staying over at a b and b or something

When I bought the concert tickets on the internet I realised that there wasn’t really any public transport from Mansfield train station to the venue (4 miles) I had imagined it like any small town and that it must have a taxi rank.

I checked my map, it said to get out of the city onto the Providence line, two singles to Mansfield $6.75 cents, I asked if there would be any extra commuter train laid on due to the concert, the vendor said nope, the commuter stops at 10.30pm and the service doesn’t kick in again until 5.30am the following morning, when I asked about a shuttle bus to the venue he just said no, you may find a taxi but I doubt it in Mansfield” By now it was too late to do anything else but just go, so that’s what we did.


We had come this far so it was onwards and upwards, the train came and excitedly we sat upstairs (the American commuters are double decked, what a novelty ) as we left the city, we passed Back Bay, Ruggles, Forest Hills, Hyde Park, Readville, Route 128, Canton Junction, Sharon, Mansfield. Whilst I people watched the others on the train it seemed like everyone on nearing their station rang what sounded like a member of their family to come and collect them at the station. I pick my kids up at Stretford Met regularly, maybe it was pretty much the same.

We got off the train in Mansfield at 3.30pm, and others getting off the train were not concert goers, and all went to the dusty car park and had lifts waiting, there was a loner who set off up a dusty road as soon as we walked off the platform, he was on a mission and proceeded to walk off into the distance, without a backward glance for a taxi or bus, he knew the lay of the land and I was beginning to realise why, Mansfield station wasn’t even a station, there were no buildings, just a dusty car park, A couple of benches and that was it, there was a couple who also looked round for something more, on speaking to them (we never even got their names) they were from Peru, He worked on the Disney cruise ship out of Florida and sent money home for his wife and child, his wife was with him and spoke no English whatsoever, she looked rather frightened when I tried to break the ice so I stopped looking at her. We spotted one building over the way and went into A pizza parlour, on asking about a taxi we were told that Mansfield didn’t have a taxi service and there was no bus service either, and the best advice they could offer was a point in the direction the strange single man off our train went, we couldn’t even see him on this dusty road, so we set off, we walked for an hour, passing various clapperboard homes, schools and hamlets, we walked for another hour and I was thirsty, desp for the toilet and rather hungry. Mrs Peru looked as exhausted as me and rather frightened, several cars passed one way and seemed to come back to have a look at the strange four people walking on the dusty nothingness, that’s another thing, in America there are no pavements to walk on once you are away from house and neighbour hoods.

So we had been walking for two hours, and concerned we were going to get lost I knocked on a door, “Your nearly there, just over the bridge” I was told.

The Arena had recently changed its name from the Tweeter Centre to CHURNWOOD SO that’s why se saw no reassuring signs as my heart sunk thinking we had walked to the wrong venue.

I felt like we had been set a challenge before we truly deserved to watch Rush in the USA, we only have one more challenge and that was to run over (there was no traffic stop signs – they weren’t expecting pedestrians and it showed) (I now know its called a freeway and we werent supposed to be crossing it, it may even have been eligal, jaywalking I beleive) it was four lanes of traffic on each side and after a short gap, we ran across without getting hit, we could see the gates, the relief was short lived when we got in and realised we were only in the car park, which allowed for at least 8,000 vehicles. All I wanted was the toilet a cup of coffee and something to eat, Mr and Mrs Peru, wanted to be on their own, so we bid them farewell they were staying in a hostel in Boston and doing the whole trip on a shoestring fortunately for them they had a contact of someone who could get them back to their accommodation, we were not quite so lucky, a feeling of impending doom washed over me when Sean uttered the words “perhaps after the gig we could just thumb a lift back to Boston, to the right of me were two men who looked like extras from Deliverance, and to the right of me was a man on his own with a long black leather coat (so inappropriate for the warm weather) and I thought of The Hitcher with Rutgar Hauer ….. I was sure I could hear duelling banjos in the distance or was that the boys warming up??

Yes ladies and gentleman there were a few hours on Sunday 15th June 2008 when I thought that this may be the one story I never relate unless It was to relive it to a state police officer whilst he dictated it and I wept quietly with a blanket wrapped round me.

We see signs stating that tailgating is permitted, as I start to wonder what that means I have vivid images from deliverance running through my mind. Tail sounds awfully close to tailbone which is fairly close to your goddammn butt!, actually it was all very innocent, as we entered the centre (or should I say the centres car parking) everyone with a car had the trunk open and were setting up bbqs no not the disposable ones you would imagine, but huge things that needed legs attaching, then the deck chairs came out then the picnic tables then the gazeboes went up and the party began, various different era’s of rush was being played from car cd players and we were finally at the venue. We split with Mr and Mrs Peru and said we would meet up later if they saw us they could share our cab. A local rock radio station arrived and set up a stall giving away t shirts and stickers, dunk in donuts arrived giving out samples of their new drinks, and we began to chill out…… the venue opened its doors at 6.30 on the dot and we walked in, it was all outside and was like walking into Gulliver’s world, the merchandise was being sold out of many different log cabins, we bought three t shirts (one for Sean, one for a cousin and another for a friend who we knew would appreciate it) the temperature dropped slightly and I decided the best way to carry all this stuff was to put it on, I was secretly trying to make myself as unattractive as possible I had on a t shirt, blouse, and two xl rush t shirts and a stripy cardigan surely if push came to shove (and I sincerely hoped it wouldn’t) I would not be seen as a play thing for any slack jawed yokel.


As it happened, the rush show was excellent they started with Limelight,
the only changes the set list on the uk tour was, and they played Red Barchetta and The Trees, which whilst I sang along, I could actually see there were trees on each side of the auditorium (come rain or shine), I have read in the rock press that Geddy has said they particularly enjoy playing to European Audiences as they are more attentive. And I can get this now, at the Manchester Arena, people don’t hear the intro to the trees, first time they have heard it live, their favourite rush song that evokes many different thoughts of their younger days and come to the conclusion, that they need a burger and a giant coke and must go and get one, alternatively make sure they get seats where you can have waitress service, I get it now. Its not like they don’t have a break in the middle so you have bags of time to do it then, but hey this is America when the only time you don’t eat is when your asleep apparently. Yes I did want to shout “for the love of god surely you cant still be hungry”! but I didn’t I just enjoyed the show and people watched, I do remember halfway through Red Barchetta a man who had eaten too much hurled (Red Barfetta more like) and it wasnt due to anything other than pure gread, very strange.

Coming out of the Arena at the end of the show, we were on the look out for a Taxi, our night in Shining Armour came in the form of Kevin Cotter, one time limousine driver, one time security driver, now our semi retired cab driver, he already had two people in his cab and you would think we would all get in and split the fare, but this being America things are done differently and we were welcome to join them and haggled a price of $75 dollars back to Boston.
The other couple in the cab were a Russian man and his son who looked about 10, he promptly fell asleep and the Russian barely uttered a word until we got to Boston almost 25 mins later.

Kevin Cotter on the other hand was great company, we dropped off the Russians at their hotel in Copley Square and Kevin showed us around Boston, we would have loved to see much more but it was close to midnight by now and we were exhausted, as we paid up with a generous tip he said “don’t go…..” I think he had enjoyed our company just as much.


We called in at the 24 hour store on the corner and bought yogurts, bananas, cereal and milk, went back to room 712 in the Harbour Side Inn refuelled and then slept safe in our beds without any unwelcome violations whatso ever!

As we settled down to sleep after a long, eventful, exciting, exhausting and most of all memorable experience , sean relayed to me the time when Sean nearly beat up a fellow rock fan on the 67 all night bus, after a heated discussion this rocker said that rush had sold out, in releasing a farewell to kings album, such passion “ you don’t know what your talking about, you better shut it or I willkick your teeth down your throat etc”......

National Dress

National Dress

I may be in the minority in my love of national dress, hear is where it all began…………..

In the olden days before equality, but after some people burnt their bras in the 1960’s (mind you, after looking at the state of the underwear available its no wonder – I am talking pre- Agent Provocateur and T shirt bras, it was all pointy cones like witches hats and as scary as finding out your camping in a remote part of Wales where they still perform rituals “next year it will be you, you I tell you” etc…) anyway back to National Dress – of course the biggest showcase of the stuff was

Miss World – now for anyone born after 1980 I will explain…

Each country in the world had the opportunity to “showcase” what their regional judges had decided was the best the country had to offer, of course they said it wasn’t just based on looks and the winning girls had to be good ambassador for their country, which basically meant they wanted to “travel the world and look after disadvantaged children”. Sometimes it would come to light that the Miss World was actually a Mrs or had a child or even worse had some kind of a liaison with a judge, you know some interesting bit of scandel, anyway. They were really hoping to travel the world having a good time and hopefully gain from the situation in as many different ways as possible, and who can blame them? If that was the game then play it and win I say… well I say that now, at the time I would say


“When are they going to put on the outfits, when, when”,it was good old fashioned family viewing, Dads, Granddads everywhere stopped what they were doing to ogle at ladies in swimming costumes (to my mind it was all one pieces I don’t remember anything as shocking as a bikini) initially I think the format included each representative from each participating country walking out, this is before all the fashion magazines, the tabloids were still reporting real news and not Jordan/Peter, Brad/Angelina type stuff, we didn’t have cable TV in the UK yet so it really was a programme that the whole country ground to a standstill to watch, the clothes were nice to see,long flowing gowns and the girls were glamous whilst lying “oh we are just one big happy family, everyone is really friendly” of course competition is competition regardless of what the prize is, its dog eat dog (and actually I do remember some of the representatives weren’t as glamorous as we were expecting- I clearly remember my dad saying “well, if that’s the best they have to offer……….” He was really put out)

Anyway the national dress came next and I loved it… Ms Spain with her castonettes and flemenco dress, Miss Wales with her funny hat etc, Miss UK………… usually dressed as Britannia, I loved them all, I was less interested in the cozy section, so when I was tuning out and going back to my sticking and clueing (the name for anything creative I was making, usually just making a mess, my mum fed up and myself frustrated as nothing ever turned out the way it did on blue peter for those damn presenters, damn Valerie singleton, damn Sarah green with her “I’m using double sided sticky tape for Speed”.

In 2007 I turned 40, I have to say it was not something I was dreading, I embraced it, me and hubs had had a good think about something special we wanted to do that didn’t involve anyone else (I have given up the last 20 years bringing up pesky kids whose only mission is to nark me off continuously and keep me busy sorting out their mishaps) So no party for me, I had to get a new passport as my other one had run out, despite only being used twice Ibiza 1985 on an 18-30’s, and Yugoslavia in 1986, after that I didn’t travel any further than Rhyl, Llandudno or Blackpool, you see what happens when an egg gets fertilized unexpectedly?? Who knew? (mother nature actually and the doctor when I had to own up to having missed six, yes six periods)

Right so I saw the advert for “Canada maple leaf trail” and thought this is the one for me, hubs being a mega RUSH fan wanted to walk around Toronto and maybe recreate the "moving pictures" front cover, it was much fun and that’s what we did, packing for the trip was very difficult for me, but on the whole looking back I may have got a bit giddy, the day I wore the above outfit in Quebec, was very strange, it’s more French than France, it was warm and sunny, but still had snow stacked up at the sides a wonderful experience, I caused quite a stir and thought I had my fingers firmly on the pulse of fashion – well in my mind anyway.


The truth was all I needed was a pencil thin moustache/a string of onions round my neck and a beret at a jaunty angle, so all those years spent watching the national dress section on Miss World coupled with episodes of “Allo, Allo” were not wasted after all.


Bonjour


Mahoo

Three weep Bitterly in Abersoch

Five Day Break
I have to admit the prospect of five days of less responsibilities did indeed sound like a break to me, and I did encourage Fecky to go, but I was not fully aware of the dubious supervision and care that would (not be) offered.


Dubious Parenting Skills
Its taken me now almost five years of giving the benefit of the doubt, and when I tell this tail I think you would agree that there are lots of kinds of parents out there, caring ones who smother their children and don’t mean to, ones that like to do things as a family, ones where the mum stays at home enabling everyone to have more free time (not knocking it quite jealous really, as I examine a school shirt and wonder if we can get another day out of it, sniffing the pits and rubbing a smudge off a collar - yeah another day will be just fine), i could go on and on...... so hear is the tale.

Calenders checked (not)
The three recently left schoolers wanted to go to Abersoch and stay in a family caravan, they got a lift down there off a dad (possibly bullied into it) I dropped my feckles off with £20, 2 toilet rolls, 1 pizza, 24 chicken goujons (bogof), a loaf, 4 litres of milk, pot noodles and cheese.

The other two girls had everything they thought they needed, the next morning they woke up and mother nature (that bitch) had played a cruel and wicked trick on them (yes all three) despite them all having different body clocks, in a caravan in the middle of a large campsite, all three of them needed the “feminine hygiene aisle” and not a tampax in site, the one suffering the most stayed back at base and the other two (yeah not laughing now at my insistence on packing the Andrex are you) unlocked two bikes and rode into the nearest town in search of a chemist and emergency provisions. They got soaked. The campsite was hit by flash floods and lightening warnings, but all managed to get sorted and fed. The sobbing phone calls I received the next morning didn’t do much to instil confidence in me, as the tail got somewhat worse.

Vacate the Accommodation
The family had come down to the caravan and told the three girls they had to vacate the premises and as the campsite owner “didn’t like people putting up extra accommodation” they needed to find a campsite, this is where the dubious parenting skills really comes into its own, at around 11.00pm, them, the tent were dropped off at a popular area near the beach called “devils cove”, they set up the tent and once the normal parent found out where they had been left, they were prompting collected at 2.30am, and spent the rest of the time sleeping on a caravan floor (the tent was stolen by surfers no doubt, as it wasn’t there when they went to retrieve it the next day).

Night Out
Me and hubs and the eldest were all set for a wedding reception (snap attached) and as I applied my lippy single handedly (it’s a new revolutionary design by Avon) I was forced to listen to bitter weeping. I explained that we couldn’t come and collect them, it was only one more night, and to think of it as a precursor to the festival experience, but without the music, bands or organisation.

Of course its all back to normal now, by that I mean, sink full of pots (there not all mine), Have you sorted out that phone contract yet (no I have all month to do it), can you please get off face book its midnight (it’s the summer hols for gods sake get a life) Ahhh, my life, never was I so settled and actually quite happy than when I lived with Mr and Mrs Lamb, on Broadstone Road and paid £50 a month keep, had my tea cooked everynight, my clothes washed and went out four nights out of seven………


Mahoooooooo X

Protagonists and stain removal discoveries SATURDAY

Dear Reader


I know what i meant to say on thursdays blogg, a word i learnt on the "How to get published roadshow", Protagonist, although the team did say, if anyone has any questions, dont hesitate, well i did hesitate because I had no idea what the word meant and i thought if i keep quiet and listen maybe it will come to me, i think it did, but for a good 10 mins i thought it sounded like a baddy from Dr Who, and all i could think was, i am not doing a weird sci fi blogg where I will get a really obsessed regular who will cross the channel and try to kidnap me on the way to work because he/she somehow thinks i have tapped into their thought waves and we will become "soulmates" by force if necessary.......

anyway, i know what it is now (I think)but i may go and look for a dictionary just in case i have the wrong end of the stick.

Tonight I am at a wedding reception, the outfit is sorted and will be worn regardless of the weather as i am lucky enough to be driven their and back (so bring on the pints of strong cider - that may have more in common with a science lab than an apple, but will hit the button marked oblivion (accidentally brushing the button marked THROWING SHAPES).

Hubs told me some exciting news this morning, he has discovered the best cleaning agent to remove greasy kebab stains and even curry of clothing (even ground in for a week or so and nothing else has worked despite nearly ruining the garment and spending loads of money on vanish type products!) VOSENE

He is more than a little elated at this discovery and thats where I am leaving todays blogg

How to get published workshop - Thursday

I have to admit I was giddy. I had to take a couple of painkillers, avoid coffee for the afternoon and drink lots of water. Me an J had tickets to “how to get yourself published” road show, there was the promise of a goody bag and three experts giving their tips on the publishing world, one of the tips (hence my proper blogg) was to write and keep writing, so for the moment the stories are on a back burner (I wont be able to maintain that for long, they ooze out of me like perspiration)


The road show was from 6.30 – 8.30, so we worked till 5.30, then had baked potatoes with beans and wilted greens with home-grown tomatoes, all made by my fair hands in the office kitchen. I shouted J to come for her tea like this “J your teas on the table, and she did an impression of a grumpy teenager, which was a giggle.

We went to the Malmaison, and commented on how dark it was inside (I am naturally clumsy so obviously fell on a rug going in, spacial awareness is not my area of expertise and I even tried to sit down on a chair that wasn’t there, J is only 5 weeks on from having laser eye treatment (coincidentally the same building used to be a building society, not just any old building society, the one I got my first mortgage from, I should have had my eyes tested before putting pen to paper in that heady year of our lord 1986, endowments anyone?)

We were met with champagne on arrival (I managed a top up) before entering the seminar; an editor, publisher and agent, all good stuff, gave talks. The author of a book was also signing and selling her new book, but J and me had our noses in the goody bags by this stage –

Goody bags contained

A novel by Sara May
September issue of Marie Claire
Body shop body butter
Neal’s Yard moisturiser with frankincense

Some leaflets on money saving offers at Malmaison.


Two vouchers for a couple of drinks (I chose rose) and canapés (the smallest burgers in the world) tomatoes hollowed out and stuffed with pesto, and other tasty tit bits, wonderful.

I was home by 9.30 pouring my self the first of my weekend beverages a lovely pint of savannah cider (yes the last of the case I won earlier in the month)


*Wilted greens – I had left the spinach soaking after a colleague married to a chef warned me salmonella is rife amongst soggy salads and greens, so it was rewashed and another colleague and former staff member of the Lime Tree in Didsbury turned it into wilted greens a phrase i have never heard before (wilted does sound disapointing but in this instance it really wasnt)

Next....... I have a wedding on saturday will be back sunday to tell all

Mahoo X

Oasis Soundcheck (weds 3rd June 09) oh yes!

Today I find myself as exhausted as Susan Boyle and thinking maybe my next prize should be a fortnight in The Priory, a spot of basket weaving and navel gazing just might be what I need (although the not drinking could be a struggle). my story .........
As usual last weekend I had an hour on Friday night with a large glass of red wine, the newspapers and my computer (those pesky kids were out so I took control). Then I did two hours of housework (I only do them in blocks of time not tasks, I think this helps me focus, and gazing fondly at the remainder of wine in the bottle spurs me on)

Tuesday afternoon I received a voice message on my mobile left by Tom. It said breezily
"Hello, this is a message for MK; you entered a competition for two tickets to see oasis and an invite to the soundcheck i am pleased to inform you, you have won both. Please could you ring me back and I can give you more details" Damn right I'll ring back for details!
The following day I finished work at 4.00pm and hubs met me, we got the metro link to the Heaton Park stop and walked until we found the VIP entrance near sheep foot lane, then as instructed we phoned the record company representative Terri, she said to stay put as she had another 10 sound check winners coming and would send a mini bus to collect us and take us to the stage, excitedly we waited as others arrived, a couple from Preston, a couple from Dukinfield and two lads from Bolton who had all won the sound check and tickets for the Thursday Oasis show from Key 103, two other couples came who had won the same from Planet Rock.
The minibus arrived and we piled on like giddy infants on a school trip, we were all given a bottle of water and taken to the designated area, very near to the stage, the Oasis boys were clearly visible, running through their one/two one/two, well that’s what I was expecting from everything I have ever seen in films, actually its not so much like that, there was tuning of guitars, changing of echo on voices and Liam came out with a parka on (oh he wont feel the benefit, it was far too hot) he began to sing wonder wall and was shouting the endings to each song, there was a slight kafuffle, a bit of pointing and words like ya can eff right off, I don’t know I did grow up near burnage but maybe they were just having a reasoned discussion it just seems like a fall out to any outsiders.
What a strange experience to be reclining listening to live oasis, in such a small group, it was wonder wall it really was.
Some experiences are to be savoured, and this one certainly was. An hour and a half later armed with some exclusive badges, playing cards, and three cd singles each we were back on the mini bus being shuttled out of Heaton Park. Me n hubs got back on the met and were in spoons downing a pint thinking "did that really happen", ah yes like most wonderful experiences over way too quickly. Anyway we weren’t too bothered as we would be back again the next night for the concert, all for nought pence! Now where are all those people who thought I wasted my money on stamps and time entering competitions, i rest my case (packed full of wonderful exclusive experiences and prizes).

I said maybe ya gonna be the one that saves me, and after all your my wonder wallllllll...

Horsing Around

Horsing Around

Sunday 9th May 2009 - Me, Freckles, J and H turned up at Carrington Riding School armed with our three daily mail "Horse Riding Tokens" and £5 apiece.

It took me longer to negotiate the parking (I got in a tiz as all the cars were posh four x fours and I had the whole of the outside café clientele watching me) than it did for all four of us to get fitted with hats, boots and horses fit for the task of carting our sorry asses (sorry that keeps happening, I keep talking all cowboy) into the indoor riding arena.

My horse was called Mac, J’s was called Zac, H had one called Magic and F had the naughty one called Ned, we knew as soon as we looked at him he would be.

After he had tried to drag her back into the stable, we all tried to restrain him and he managed to stand on F’s foot. The scream she let out had (yet again) the horsey folk at the café looking at us, Well aintcha got betta things ta be adoin that lookin at us, ya damn yankees! But this time I paid no mind to that, as I could see in just a field away behind the hedgerow a middle aged woman putting her bra on, a photographer and another two ladies in housecoats! well yeee har little missi, we got a wild one here!

The arena door opened before I had time to vocalise what I had seen, J kindly swapped horses with F, which I was glad of especially when I spotted a tiny Tasmanian Devil embroidered on the rug underneath his saddle. Theres always one isn’t there.

Our first task was to get onto our horse and adjust our stirrups, then how to hold the reigns, thumbs up, little fingers tucked safely away (so thats how all those cowboys, lost their goddamn fingers - I thought. We trotted round the arena then to spice it up a bit we did figures of eight, when it came time to do some trotting I was thrown around like I don’t know what until the teacher said I had to lift my bottom rhythmically, I don’t think I got the hang of this at all, but Mac was a very nice horse, light brown and not naughty at all. J’s horse naughty Ned, needed a firm hand, she had ridden horses in her youth in Aylesbury, (i did have a vision of a rodeo rider being thrown clean outta tha goddamn stadium) she took every opportunity to show us how it was done, rhymically raising her bottom right on cue , (and thats all i am prepared to say on that matter!, i told you i aint talkin mister

Oh before I leave you in case your wondering about the woman putting her bra on, the two in housecoats and the photographer, I asked at the reception when we took our hats and boots back. ladies from the riding school were doing a “calender girls” type shoot with horses, I can only wonder who, where, why and how, but I suppose if it raises funds for a worthy cause, who am I to question it. Those poor horses surely its some kind of equestrian abuse?

We got back to the car and I managed to reverse out of the space without damaging anyones 4 X 4 and in just 10 minutes we were all back at J’s having hot cups of tea and eating donuts or “glazed rings of death” as Tom Hanks called them on the Jonathan Ross show.

Though I may never ride a horse again, it can be something to tick off my list (if i had a list) I wonder what adventure, me and my daily mail vouchers will get up to next?

Lucky Buttons, Curve Balls and Balti

As regular readers will know I do try to find the silver lining and sometimes i find other things too, a few months ago i found a really large black button with KAREN MILLEN written on it, it is now on my desk and work and we call it the "lucky button", although not so lucky for the person who cant fasten up their coat but will be hard pressed to find a replacement button too! I bet it really narked them off that day. If your reading this and the button is yours get in touch, I will need to ask you a serious of questions to verify you are the original owner but it might be nice to reunite this button with its rightful garment (and owner).

Anyway I consider it my lucky button, for no other reason that I decided it to be so, i rubbed the button and a week later won the break to vegas, and I rubbed the button again and won the london trip.

Getting on the met this met this morning, I saw a young man with a huge rucksack taking up a seat, I politely asked if I could sit their, only to realise he was somewhat challenged, the rucksack was heavy and full, I said for him to leave it and I would stand (when i say challenged I mean he has various disabilities) he managed to move the bag, although not a trained GP after living with my hubs for 22 years, bringing up two children and working on a helpdesk at a well known university, I would diagnose something muscular, dystrophy perhaps, tourettes too as if life hadnt thrown enough curve balls, when the tram came in to St Petes square he struggled up and I helped him put the rucksack on, he said thanks or called me a Wankxx either way I was cool with it, the cards he has been dealt would suggest he could have free reign on name calling of the general public in my view at least.

And you know I thought of all the whinging teenagers (my own included) grumbling about trivea when every task and every day is a struggle for this lad and it didnt keep him in the house, he was getting out and about, actually by the size of that rucksack he could have been running (well walking quickly) away from home. Maybe my magic button is just a prop, but if the pope can have a cross I can have a button if i think it works the fact that it doesnt doesnt matter too much.

Next stop armed with my daily mail voucher - I got my paper ( I am currently saving tokens for the daily mail Win £100,00 and also Go Horseriding for a fiver) and checked this weeks Now magazine, there it was, page 73, my most recent Janet, Janet E (with lots of encouragement from moi) is there with a small snap next to a profession giving her feed back to the 7 beauty balm products.

Thats all I am now home and for tea we are having chicken balti, nan bread, oven chips (aunt bessies) and rice.

More later

Mahooooo

Collecting Janet's

The first Janet I ever knew was one of twins, Janet and Philip S they were in my infant class at fir tree junior school, around 1972, They didn’t look alike as of course they were not identical twins (they have to be the same sex to be identical, I did spend 20 minutes explaining this to a twin once, splitting eggs and spitting feathers by the time I had finished, but lacking knowledge should never be something to be ashamed of, not listening in biology is another matter entirely!) Anyway Janet S was nice, she occasionally teamed up with me when we did PE, there was another set of “non identical twins” and they were called Jennifer and Philip K.

That done, there was Janet B, she didn’t have a dad, and someone called her a “bastard” once not in an unkind way but I think it hurt her just the same, I asked my brother that evening when I helped him with his paper round and he explained that a bastard was someone who didn’t have a dad, which biologically speaking is pretty impossible (unless you think about the whole Mary and Joseph thing or was that different like an immaculate conception? I don’t remember them having a wedding though) anyway mike said it was more to do with a dad that didn’t stay around and admit to it.

Anyway Janet B had a cruel streak, maybe not a typical trait of the other Janet’s I have collected along the way. I walked home with her once we took a short cut over a building site and three was another girl out of my class called Julie B, Janet threw some stones at her and pretended it was someone else, then Julie lost her footing and fell, her right arm was at a funny angle and I admit I joined in the laughing, Janet B ran off and I helped Julie up whilst she gave me dirty looks like I betrayed her (which I did) I took her home and when her mum asked what had happened Julie just said she fell, and her mum thought I was this kind person (which I wasn’t). I had a strange uncomfortable feeling in the pit of my stomach that night and felt even worse when I found out the next day that poor Julie had been taken to A and E and was now in plaster with an arm broken in two places.

The feeling I had I learnt much later was called remorse, this feeling got much worse by being pointed out and thanked for “helping her home” after the incident. Strangely enough Janet B had no remorse and still thought it funny; I never walked home with her again. It was the first time I had come into contact with someone whom I now know was a “sociopath” (god bless my nightschool class at Peel Moat, Heaton Moore, how else would I be able to categorise people so easily?) of course I was to rub shoulders with many over the course of the years, spotting one quickly is an excellent skill I have, naming them publicly I have never done unless you count this. I mean sociopaths and not janets.

I am glad to say, no other Janet’s could be categorised in such a way. My next Janet was Janet D, I knew her from school she was a couple of years above me, she had a beautiful face not unlike “Jennifer Hart”, in Hart to Hart, she was voluptuous, not a skinny Minnie like I was, she had curves where I had bones, I was fascinated, though not surprised when I saw what was in their fridge on going to her house for tea. It was full of all the luxury things people generally only had at Christmas or on a special occasion, all the time. Easter in their house, was a mantle piece full of eggs, and they were generous with all they had, I remember tucking in with her mum and sister whilst her dad played on his new bontempi organ, it was a jolly happy greedy little house on a new estate in Reddish and I loved it. This same Janet later enrolled for a hairdressing course at Stockport College and started doing my hair; the highlights she put in made my boring Norma Jean mousy brown hair glamorous. It was often mentioned I resembled Kim Wild, of course this was the early 80’s and I had the mullet to prove it. It didn’t matter what I ate I was still a size 10 in those stretch denims, my dad said I looked like Max Wall.

There were a few lean years with no Janets to speak of until 1988. Me and hubs to be bumped into his old school make Jim Mck and his lovely wife Janet McK, at the Barton Air Show, we took one look at each other and had matching bumps, I was due on 1^st October of the same year and she was due on 18^th of the same month. As we sat on the grass watching the red devils do their stuff. We were invited round to their house midweek for our tea, they lived on a new estate in Davyhulme, they had a lovely garden and seemed “very grown up” to me, who just threw meals together and hoped for the best, her freezer was all neat and tidy, with meats at the bottom and frozen vegetables. We had Vienna steaks, frozen baked potatoe halves with cheese on (very Iceland) and mixed veg, she even had garlic bread in that freezer too! Oh yes I could learn a lot from this one, who was in fact very brown, and I knew a holiday was not the cause, as I had sat with her on the airfield in Eccles not three days before, when I asked she said I go brown quickly, my dad is Maltese, her dad was also a triplet, it has never left me, what an excellent title for a story “The Maltese triplet”, Wonderful. I had my first baby, Lee on 30^th September 1988 and she had Michelle her first on 17^th October, mine slept and ate and didn’t cry too much, didn’t mind being left with a babysitter and hers didn’t do any of those things, but could hold her breath like I have never seen, until her lips went blue. I did think “they must be doing something wrong”, well that came back to bite me on the ass when I welcomed my longed for little girl almost five years later (that’s another story). I liked this Janet very much, she could drive and although only 6 years older than me at seemed like a real proper grown up I wasn’t really a grown up, I had a house, a mortgage and a baby but I was still reading just 17 and watching the children’s programmes in the afternoon, children’s ward, Byker Grove.

Their was a gap before I met the next Janet, Janet Denny (or Janet of The Denny as she became known) It was 1998 and just gone back to work at the now defunct University of Manchester Institute of Science and Technology or UMIST as it was then known (all signs of its existence removed after the merger in 2000, although I still have a mug lurking somewhere in the back of a kitchen cupboard – I can picture myself taking it to an antiques road show in the future, of course they will say “it has a sentimental value but not a monetary one” – story of my life).

I knew I liked Janet Denny when after a week or so someone brought a baby in and she put her little finger to the corner of her mouth and said “I think I shall call him Minnie me”, oh yes I had met a likeminded humorous companion, she made me smile from ear to ear. She knew all the words to Stand and deliver, by Adam Ant, which she sang whenever I wore my black knee high boots, and another time I heard her singing “My lovely Horse”, from father Ted, I have tremendous admiration for this Janet, maybe more than any other, which some may say is wrong I should like all the Janet’s equally.

On the 1^st April 2008, the next chapter in my working life began; surely no one finishes their previous job one day, goes for an interview the next (on April fools day to boot) and actually lands the job. Well I did, and a month later on my first day at work when introduced to the team, was more than a little pleased to find a Janet (no office is complete without one) So Janet, like it or not you are and will be forever in my collection.

In conclusion I would have to say that Janets are as good for you today as they have always been, no added preservatives and very possibly containing Omega 3.

• obviously with the exception of Janet B, last seen coming out of the ladies public toilets with a much older man and getting into a ford Cortina this was circa 1983, the summer of, and taking in this information sent a shiver down my spine, I had to put my wrangler back on.

That’s all

Mahoo

Mosh Pits , Naked Bits (No brad pitts)

Thursday 26th February 2009

Mosh Pits and Naked bits, but sadly no Brad Pitts................

Now were was I, oh yeah, we have fabtastic seats and at 8.40pm on the above date the lights go down and the band come on, a concert in the round is possibly the best way to see such a band as Metallica 25 years and still rocking? (even I feel exhausted thinking about the partying these guys must have done, all that and still the give a wonderful show, infact a wonderul experience) Obviously plenty of tunes from their new albumn Death Magnetic, which I have to admit I havent heard yet, I was pretty much on my own in this as the crowd sang along enthusiastically (they had done their home work and i had been found out as a fake phoney yet again) nothing else matters, and a few older one I did sing along to (look i dont feel guilty as a busy housewife, mother of two teenagers and holding down a full time job, learning the lyrics of every song by metallica just wasnt that high on the agenda,,,, i know i am protesting too much, maybe i do feel a bit bad,) now, having found out that a friend was in one of the private boxes around the arena, coutesy of a sister who works for a company who has one, I quickly scanned round looking for the right logo, i didnt find it, but directly behind me what my little peepers did fall upon was....................................

A woman with her top off posing suggestively holding one of her breasts having her photo taken, with three other men looking on with bottles of beer smiling. This quite shocked me but I then thought of two things:

1) she could have been a hooker
2) was it a works outing, does she work in an office with these people?


and finally I went for the second thought, and you know the poor woman probrably hasnt been out in ages and just got a bit giddy, a few too many black sambucas can really make even the most sensible of women act in such behaviour (no I am not saying I was that soilder) but all the following day I worried about the terrible self remorse she may have been feeling, worse than any hangover can ever be, she could be sat somewhere now reading the problem page of womans own and wishing she could share this debauchary with someone , anyone?


Looking round the sea of faces as we left the arena I have to admit there were more than a few i recognised from the mid to late 80's, in various stages of ageing, you can throw, marriages, divorces, children, maintenance payments, mortgages, credit crunches, pot noodle lunches, and many stomache paunches at these die hard fans, they are and always will be rockers at heart.............

may the headbanging continue

thats all i have to say about that............

god forbid anyone puts those bare chested snaps on (red) face book and Mrs Jones from Hale is recognised, I mean she teaches at sunday school!

leeds

Leeds Festival 2009

Apparently – Leeds festival is a “family festival” the tickets are £180.00 each, they go on sale on 31^st March and “everyone” is going.

It was mentioned last year in passing by F like this “ next year if L goes to Leeds can I go with him etc…” and last week it was mentioned again and I don’t recall saying yes, I listened to all the reasons why she should go

• All my friends are going
• It’s a family festival (honestly stick the word family on anything and it sounds legitimate)
• She never got the desk for her bedroom for Christmas*
• It could be joint Christmas and birthday present

So all this discussion/argument happened from 11.50pm until 12:20am Thursday/Friday 19^th and 20^th March 2009. I thought of many things after two shots of amoretto and a shot of Jamison’s, I thought that sending her to a grammar school where I couldn’t possibly compete financially or materially for her may have been a huge mistake. Then I thought of the Friday conference calls with her headmistress to come up with a plan to get her through these last few weeks at school and come out with the best possible results and outcome from someone who has lost interest in anything but makeup, hair straigtheners, and having a good time. Then I thought of tough love and that going badly wrong involving F running away from home (not even taking her mascara and straighteners!!!) and me having to go on national television for some “come home all is forgiven plea” only I wouldn’t feel like saying that it would come out as

“You selfish bastard, I can’t believe you would put me through this just because you having got your own way”

“Now get your boney arse back home to stretford”

Not so sure that would go down well on granada reports with Lucy Meecock and Tony (smarmy) morris.

Anyway I don’t remember much after that, some weeping in the distance not sure if that came from the very core of my soul, or the box room where Faye sleeps.

I have had enough, and am sorly tempted to purchase that black sambuca I had my eye on in tescos last week (the packaging is beautiful).

Mothers day this weekend, I don’t want anything off anyone, its all lip service, they can stick there daffodils where ever they want but they are not going in a vase in my lovely front room. Today I feel like I have items of furniture I love more than my own flesh and blood.

*The trip to Ikea never happened in the lead up to Christmas because, Sean’s car was written off and then his dad was taken into hospital were he remained his life slowly ebbing away unconscious on morphine until 1^st January 2009. I think the fact that Faye doesn’t believe in either father Christmas or our lord Jesus Christ means that we live in the real world and perhaps the desk for her bedroom from Ikea kind of took a back seat, not to be used as a bargaining tool less than 12 weeks later. Surely she should be in central government with that kind of brain (and no that’s not a compliment)

now where is that number for Parentline...................

mahoo

Freddie

Dear Peeps, still in agony after the tooth extraction, so hear is one from the vault .

I got an obscure question correct in a pub quiz once, pure fluke of course, I am not pub quiz material, it may have been one of my shining moments (like the time I knew what AD stood for in Religious Education, no one else in the class knew, but I had seen it on the TV the night before and asked my dad and as luck would have it, it was the question of the day and I was the girl with the answer! It doesn’t get much better than that, shocking my teacher as well as several classmates who had me down as a halfwit) so back to the question I got right in the pub quiz

Question: what was a number one hit for 5 weeks leading up to Christmas 1979 and New year 1980?,

Answer: One day at a time, by Lena Martell

The reason I knew the answer to this question that seemed to stump everyone else? Read on …..

Between Christmas and new year of 1979 I went shopping in reddish and bumped into Freddie, me and my mum were loaded with bags like a couple of packhorses and Freddie had a box of readybrek and a pint of milk, he said it was his weekly shop, and it probably was, he didn’t waste much time eating (but liked a pint or two especially if they were being bought for him *) my mum said that wont be enough Freddie and he said “I’m like Lena Martell I am, one day at a time”, we laughed and said goodbye, and it stuck in my memory forever after.

At that time he was divorced from his wife, at different times during the boys teenage years, when they had fallen out with mum and staying with dad seemed an easier prospect (I say seemed because, yes they could have all the freedom they wanted, no one quizzed them about their comings or goings, Freddie never laid down the law in any way whatsoever and this must have seemed very much what they thought they wanted, but neither did he ensure there was food in the cupboards or the bills were paid, in many ways he never grew more responsible than a teenager, and the boys came to their senses and soon returned to mum gladly even welcoming the house rules, roast dinners and curfews, it was a small price to pay for being looked after, there was order, with Freddie there was chaos) he was damn good company and because of this he was never short of a pint, who wouldn’t want his company he had a good sense of humour and was great company.

Freddie died last week, he had been in St Anne’s Hospice, which was very nice by all accounts but he wanted to go home, back to his flat near his local, the armoury on Edgeley, not that he had been well enough to prop up the bar there in a long time. He came home and was looked after for the last few days of his life by his three sons.

He would have been 80 years old three days later, but he never made it that far. He spoke to my mum, he said he had had a good innings and it was time.

The funeral was just two days after he died, I presume it had been sorted out whilst he was ill and he would have been ok with as little fuss as possible.

My mother went to the funeral, after all she had known him since he was in his twenties, two very funny stories were told at the funeral and though I had heard them plenty before they still make me smile.

One of his sons said he had moved in with him in because he craved some freedom, he got that all right along with the electricity being cut off and an empty fridge, he remembers on their way home one night they “borrowed” some lights from a roadwork’s, and they used them in the living room that evening so they could see the fish and chips they were eating from the paper, they were deep in conversation and every 4 seconds the room would light up.

One of my mums tails is of when her and my dad were first “courting” and he said to my mum when my dad left the room, “if you give me half a crown I will go out and leave you and john on your own”, my mum said “half a crown, you can sit there all night for all I care you wont ever get a penny from me”, she certainly beat him at his own game, because after huffing and puffing for 10 more minutes he went out anyway.

The obituary in the Manchester Evening News paper said “ he still had his dry wit right to the end” and even though I wasn’t present I know for sure its true, I suspect he may have looking back to his catholic upbringing and that myth of an after life who would he want to meet? No one in particular but he would be hoping for a warm welcome from the bar maid and a complimentary pint……

God Bless Freddie X