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

Dear All,

I am poorly today, After the naughty tooth was extracted, the healing process has not gone according to plan, I now have something called "dry socket", which according to google is very painful (your not kidding) andonly occurs in 3%. So I am am putting up an old story on my blogg to hopefully entertain until I am back to full health.................... Laters Mahoo X

Lola and the Mouse…..

Ok, what am I doing, the coast is clear its like I am actually “waiting “ for something to come so I can go after it, keys in the ignition, bit of gas, clutch, into first get the biting point, up with the clutch handbrake off and ………… there is a 25 (effing)6 and I cant see what else behind them, start all over again, the coast is clear, move off, signal at the roundabout and into second, then into third get into the right position and get into four gear and away, well at least it feels fast only every tom dick and Harriet are overtaking me because I lack the confidence to go faster than 35 miles ph and cant find the nerve to move into fifth gear (I know it would be more economical with the gas) get into the middle lane at the next roundabout and drift, yep, drift from the middle lane to the one hugging the roundabout, forget to signal so no one knows where the fcuk I am going (including me) then get back on track don’t look at anyone, especially the very angry man waving his arms around and making gestures to his brain I haven’t seen since primary school, honestly some people shouldn’t be on the road. The next roundabout, hug all the way round clip it ever so lightly then signal and move ahead then signal again (it came off don’t know why) then in first gear (there really is no point in moving up again, I will be parking up soon, surely the queue of traffic behind me can figure that one out). And park up. I look over at my hubs who has said very little by way of encouragement on this 8 minutes of driving for me. He doesn’t look very well, his lips have blueness to them and there seems to be a couple of beads of sweat on his forehead.

My legs are shaking as I walk into Asda but the adrenalin is pumping round my body, god knows what crazy items I have yet to throw into my shopping trolley (an ad mans dream surely)

We finish our shopping and hubs rather too quickly for my liking says “look you have done really well today, but I think you don’t want to over do it, I will drive back”, he is in the rather too small for him drivers seat before I can protest, I continue to empty our trolley of provisions into the boot with much more on the back seat, pineapple cream biscuits? Gormet sausage flavoured Doritos???

The front windscreen has a dash of dirt on it (hardly noticeable) but hubs seems to notice everything, he feels around until he finds what should be the washer, no water comes out, the wipers work ok but no fluid comes out. This is a job for JS the mechanic, we drop off our provisions, putting the frozen and perishables in the appropriate place. And get on up to the mechanics, we drive it into the locked now closed for the day aircraft hanger, (I don’t like it in there with my vivid imagination it could be where Dexter dissects or Mulder and Scully find aliens , or even Freddie Cruiger lurking in the shadows, we do make a grisly discovery of our own, but instead of frightening us, it turns two men white and one woman heaving violently with the stench of a 12 month old rotting mouse corpse. When JS says “ I think I can see a tail, of course I thought he was jesting”, after almost ten minutes of probing with some implement, rancid water and finally a tiny white mouse with a bloated stomach and no fur on it whatsoever, it turns out the fur was what was clogging up the water washer, and we thought it was lint from someone (certainly not the previous owner as we now know) had been buffing up the front windscreen – not!.

After disinfecting the whole area and JS disinfecting his mechanics equipment, this grim discovery had now turned to something from ER, they had been unable to save the mouse, it was a done deal but Lola will live to tell the tail (the mouse tail that is).

Mahooo XXXX

The Whole Tooth

It all started around June 08, I reckon, i thought it was neuralgia at first, having described the symptoms to Mrs L, and done my usual self diagnosis. The pain disappeared and came back with a vengence in October, in the middle of a friday nights slumber i was bolt upright holding my jaw. At this stage I couldnt even isolate it to a particular tooth, i suffered all over the weekend despite the article by Chief Exec Sheena C stating "no one will be left to suffer in the Trafford Area" well i beg to differ. All the dentists were closed over the weekend and i was offered an appointment with an out of ours standby for sunday afternoon but on the dental version of NHS direct the receptionist said "I wouldnt bother if i were you as they wont actually do anything", so i didnt i suffered, taking copious amounts of painkillers to the point of accidental overdose no doubt, and topped the lot off with a third of a bottle of Chiva Regal whisky just to enable me to sleep.

Monday morning came and i hotfooted it to Simpkins, where the glamourous dentist took an xray and confirmed it was an abcess, caused by a hairline crack in the tooth and some longterm seepage. So she gave me a course of strong antibiotics and removed the middle of the tooth and put in a sedative patch. She then informed me that the tooth needed to come out but its root was too close to my jaw bone and nerves, this was why i was in so much pain.

Anyway nice glamourous dentist was writing to the hospital for an appointment for me.

This was in October, my appointment letter didnt arrive until just before christmas and the date of 3rd March 2009 seemed such a long way off. Two more trips to our dentist, one more weekend of suffering and two more lots of antibiotics and the appointment is finally upon me.

I did a full day at work and finished at 2.30pm, got to the hospital for my appointment for 3.30pm. The room looked more of an operating theatre, lots of high tech equipment and I am having not one, not two but three injections to deaden the area. then the hard work begins plyers and lots of toolbox stuff comes out and after wiggling with plyers for 25 mins (3.40pm -4.05pm) the top of the tooth comes out, then another 20 mins of digging gets the remainder out. I was so releived to get this even pain causing thing out I hadnt once thought of the gap that will be left. I feel faint and need to rest for another 15 mins, then leave being supported by my hubs who says "you look like a vampire" as i have blood trailing from each side of my mouth. Once in the car he lovingly laughs "lets get you some peanut brittle that'd be funny".

I head straight to boots and purchase co codamol, and the highest strength of brufen they sell.

I come home and as I cant eat have some kind of fruit smoothy with a straw then after reading the paper i fall asleep on the bed at around 7.00ish. Hubs has a physio appointment, so any hopes of a quiet house are abandoned, two tv's in bedrooms, the one downstairs, mobile phones oing off, at one point of those youths throws the light on and asks "whats for tea" then i think they notice my incapicity and sort themselves out. I dont wake up till three in the morning, drooling onto my memory foam pillow and generally making a mess. Topped up on the painkillers and back to sleep.

I have a vague memory of making two cups of tea, two packed lunches writing a note for school (i just followed orders on the contents and intention of said letter).

Phoned work, explained went back to bed and work up for the day around lunchtime where i had another fruit smoothie and topped up the pain killers.

Its official I am now a toothless junky, I realise that was a really boring blogg and must try harder.

I am hungry now and considering baked potatoe and beans (but what if a bean gets stuck int he gap the tooth made)?

thats all, make sure you clean your teeth and avoid taking lids of bottles with your teeth in your late teens to impress people (I am more than sure thats where the hairline crack on said tooth originated)

Mahoooo

Premier at the Lowry and half pizzed in the Vine!

Thursday 26th February 2009

I have this thing I do (well maybe now I have realised I do it I can find a way of stopping doing it,) I think that I can fit in more than I actually can, time wise I mean, a good example of this is today.

Although the Metallica tickets had been on the pin board for at least 6 weeks, and I knew that I had to be at the Arena for like 8.30pm for the show, when i got the call to say I had been the lucky winner of 12 tickets to see the movie "Confessions of a shopaholic" and that each ticket holder would also get an exclusive tote bag crammed full with merchandise from the film "the winner can also take one special friend to Lime restaurant for a slap up three course meal for two includng wine at a date to be agreed with the restaurant manager" (god i love getting phone calls like that)

The film preview was to start at 6.00pm (prompt) armed with the info, feckles invited 9 school friends, who would all meet up with us at the Lowry Cinema. I finished work at 5.00pm, met up with my neice Lolly and after a quick sausage roll each we were on the met to Harbour City, we got to the cinema and met up with a group 10 giggly excited 16 year old Makeup monsters -(seriously orange foundation???how do you even ask for that ) the collectable tote bags were handed out (see empty bags, empty promises), we settled in our seats, the cinema only had us 12 and maybe three other couples dotted about, this was indeed an (almost) private screening. I handed
handed out 11 packets of pom pom bear ready salted and a crunchy apiece (everyone likes crunchies!) watched 20 mins of the film, ensured all was well and left the group in the more than capable hands of my neice aged over 18 (there always has to be a responsible adult in charge of a group of minors, and as one wasnt available I figured lolly would do).

I then hotfooted it back to the met station (glad i had sought sustinence from said sausage roll as energy levels would surely have been flagging by now) caught met back to St Peters square where hubs was waiting, in the Vine Pub as arranged (a country pub in the city) from the empty glasses on the table, I realised I had some serious catching up with him on the drinking score as he had managed to down 4 pints of Timothy Taylors.

His eyes glazed over as I explained the shennanigans of the Shopaholic Tote Bag Fiasco "I will meet you at half past, in the Vine" He had said as I left home this morning, I must have misheard him as a more fitting description would be " I will meet you half pissed in the Vine" after getting him an emergency quarter pounder with cheese (gurkin removed) we called for a quick pint at a pub on the way to the Arena (my first pint of the night! and hubs settled for a wussy bottle)

The last time Metallica were in Manchester was 1996, I cant remember if I went but hubs did. So on Thursday 26th February 2009 at 8.40, the lights went down, the band came on and the rocking commenced............ now for the second part of the story you have to look at Mosh Pits and Naked bits, but sadly no Brad Pitts................

mahoo