Category Archives: getting real

Whit Monday Shenanigans

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Next weekend, the Redhead and I and our kids are packing up into the Yaris for what may be our summer holiday this year. Whit week in the little market town of Yorkshire is still a big fucking deal. There is a parade and a fair which takes over the town, and everyone gts smashed. The younger men, and some of the more foolish older ones, battle in the streets to mimic the ancient ways of their ancestors and it’s a strictly new clothes, dress up affair.

I’m excited. When I lived there I rarely went out on Whit Monday but always managed to see the parade. So what is Whit?

Apparently the seventh Sunday after Jesus died, the Holy Spirit appeared to Jesus’ disciples as a white apparition. Hence, we wear white stilettos on the Spring Bank Holiday.

The date changes, because Easter changes..that pesky old moon.

Traditionally Whit week was a universal week off when the factories and mills would shut down to allow workers (men woman and child) to have a break and get ready for the full steam ahead season of Summer productivity.

As a child I paraded a circuit of church-park-church in a ball gown carrying flowers and had a buffet to look forward to at the end. As an adult I shall be looking for HOT MEN and might even wear a ball gown.

Enjoy.

Worlds Shortest Date

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In which I don’t even get ON the train to meet him.

After further talks last night with the charmer in question, I have an amendment to yesterdays bullet points which you can see HERE

  • Racist beliefs camouflaged as National pride

It’s not that he was a nazi, please believe me. He just didn’t agree with anyone being in England apart from the English born. Sweet guy, but not for me.

I realise men do not read dating profiles, where I clearly state I am quite liberal in my beliefs. I’m just going to write NO NATIONALISTS, RACISTS OR MYSOGYNISTS across my tits in eyeliner, take a photo and have that as my profile picture.

Are all men secretly scaly aliens underneath a human suit? Seriously?

Also why is it that people who say ‘I may look like XXX but love to prove to people that I’m not the XXX I look like’ are the biggest XXX

I became self aware at around 34/35. I gave up on dating and flings and got to know who I was, on my own with no heartbreak or issues. Just me on an even keel. I found out a few things about myself I wasn’t happy with and changed them. The stuff I can’t change, I warn people about.

So why don’t men read profiles? They just seem to go for the pictures and hope for the best. It’s like a whole little tribe of jellyfish…aimlessly bobbing about..brainlessly drawn to the pretty colours and flashing lights of the coral reef..and because they are brainless, not noticing  that one by one their little jellyfish friends are being swallowed whole or smashed against the spiky edges. The dazzle and the sparkle is just too much for them to ignore. My apologies to Marine Biologists who may read that.

But seriously guys, if you’re getting all butt hurt because women ‘always’ chat to you for a bit, but back out of a date at the last minute or it ‘never goes anywhere’ start reading womens profiles, be honest in yours and for the love of all that is holy, stop being racist narrow minded jerks.

VP goes on a Date!

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I am recording a new chapter in my life. The chapter where I actually DO stuff rather than eat stuff.

I have found a very nice chap on a dating site and am taking the plunge and meeting him for lunch tomorrow to break the ice. We may well break a few chairs as we’re both a little portly.

Whatevs.

He seems smart and funny and kind..bit of a cutie bear and we’re getting on like a house on fire as far as phone calls/texts go.

I am, however hedging my bets. It wouldn’t be the first time a ‘perfect on paper’ guy absolutely rubbed me up the wrong way in real life..quite literally.

Chemistry is such an important thing. For some reason his pheromones may make me retch and recoil from proximity. Thats always a shitter.

I have been known to reject a mate on the grounds of (and bullet points are SO necessary here)

  • strange smelling t-shirt
  • odd smacking noise from the lips when tired
  • odd facial control..by odd I mean slack jawed oafishness
  • over tactile
  • clingyness…I could just tell, man, don’t ask me how
  • refusal to order another drink, thus stopping me from having another drink
  • allowing food to settle on the chin
  • wearing a shirt of odd style
  • jeans just a little too short

So you see, he has a hard list to beat. Of course this is all nonsense when the right guy comes along. If I fancy, respect and adore them, they could turn up in leder hosen and a zimmer frame. I’m theirs for life. It’s just such an odd thing this chemistry business.

Hope he thinks I’m alright too

Will let you know how it goes. If you don’t hear form me again, I’m trapped in a cellar in Warrington and being kept as a sex slave.

Send chocolate.

Noisy Neighbours

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My sister has a neighbour who loves to complain about and to us.

Now we may have the Ipad on in the kitchen when we are getting ready to go out and we MAY like some music or Youtube to spur us along. This is no PA system or even a real stereo but some mood music for two gals about to hit the town, and honestly, the cheesy R n B my sister favours is going to offend no-one.

Every so often we will have a good old sing along, but we go out or to bed by 11pm.

Part of our hangover ritual has become waiting for scary Mary next door to come a knocking to complain. It started when her husband came round at 10pm the first night we had a drink, and I fear that me answering the door and being pleasant and compliant (pissed) at the request to turn the music off has set a precedent.

I should have told him to get the hell off our lawn, because ever since then its been moan moan moan.

She likes to press the point that she has a disabled daughter that she finds hard to get up for school which, though fascinating, is quite irrelevant as we only party on a Friday OR Saturday. She likes to (and this is what really grips my shit) lean up against the door frame and with a really down trodden look will relay everything she heard or saw (nothing) or her children saw or heard. She likes to tell us how bad the singing was or how awful the elderly neighbours must feel on our other side. She likes to look as if these monthly if that events are ruining her health and her life, not to mention that of her disabled daughter and sensitive son.

Now, as we don’t often remember what we got up to, these little visits can be helpful but really are they anything more than her registering her disgust? Is her disgust anything we should be addressing with anything other than observation?

She likes to complain, we like to have moderately energetic soirees..

So, my little complainant, I have some questions for you.

Are you happily married?

Do you have a husband that loves you?

Upon her answers being yes, and yes, I would also like to extend this.

Well we don’t so we party.

So while you’re snuggled up to your husband in your quiet littel house, we’ll be out amidst the rain and the shit bars and the pawing Africans and the rip off drinks world in about ten minutes.

Let us be, for our road is a hard one to walk

Easter With All The Trimmings

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So here in the cosy birthplace of the Church of England, it’s been a quiet little Easter. I’ve stayed away from the shops so totally missed all the ‘eggsitement’ that usually comes with each new chocolate and lamb fuelled year. Growing up I was force fed religion and tradition and the ‘right’ way to do things. I had some private education, a hell of a lot of church hours, choirs and orchestras and all the pomp and circumstance that comes with it. As a fallen Christian I just like the long weekend that comes with the Easter celebrations. I stopped believing long ago in a religion that was man made to get a King out of a tight spot, and is so wrapped up in pagan and heathen tradition, you really can’t understand where one religion starts and another begins.

So, if it’s all bullshit and hocum, what is it that an intelligent race of people cannot let go about the many religions we believe in today? I can only speak for myself in that the story of Jesus has inspired and helped me all through my adult life.

The legend of a man, born to a young girl married through duty to her sisters widower, taking on his kids and given the son of man as a present to her to compensate for a morally impotent husband, who grew up to be one of the most acknowledged public speakers in history and was feted, celebrated then persecuted and died, still firm in his beliefs has been an inspiration and guide to me all my life, long after I stopped going to church.The character  Jesus spoke out for the outcasts, the broken, the loveless and unloved even when it put him in danger. Mad as it may seem to a more and more logical, scientific society, when the shit hits the fan, we all have a place we go to in our head, a ‘something’ we imagine is on our side and please, won’t let what we’re scared of get to us. To me, it’s always been that long imagined, hairy, muscley (he was a carpenter) swarthy middle Eastern gentleman who stood up for single Mums and sex workers and everyone else who the world likes to pretend doesn’t exist.

So last night while I ate my Easter Pie (any excuse for pie) alone, I said a quiet prayer to Jesus in my head. The usual, like making a wish on a birthday cake when you hope everyone is safe for ever and happy, plus a sorry that we killed him, and then I took 2 Chunky Kit Kats to bed and watched Ru Pauls Drag Race.

Jesus would have wanted it that way.

Happy Holidays Guys

Commitment Issues

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I have a best friend who says I have turned him gay. I made him watch Will and Grace and Chicago and The Fashion Police. As if that is all it takes. In reality he’s just a single 40 something guy who is a confirmed bachelor. And no-one bats an eyelid. He’s happy and successful and just gets on with it.

I have been seperated from my ex husband for 11 years and had maybe 3 relationships in that time. As in men I could see a future with myself in. Lots of flings and dates but 2 who met the kids.

I don’t get left to it. I get asked if I’m a lesbian, or depressed or suffering from low self esteem.

I just like being alone. I settled down too young and since leaving my ex, who was actually not a bad husband, just not right for me, I never found someone I wanted to stick.

As soon as it comes close to being established that a new man is a boyfriend I get a strange, crowded feeling. The shaving and dressing up and talking on the phone seems too much trouble and I’d rather be in my pjs watching Netflix.

When I have made the effort and moved heaven and earth for men I thought were Mr Right, its been disastrous. So I made a commitment to myself to love and look after myself exclusively forever.

We’re really happy. Going well and no-ones cheated so far.

Apart from a bit of Ryan Gosling inspired lust, but that’s healthy I know it.

Infoodtainment

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Can I get  a headcount in here of people who are addicted to food programming?

Infoodtainment. I just made that up. You’re welcome

Sure, we all watched Delia ad Nigella and Jamie at first to learn stuff and buy the tie in book and embrace our curves. We kidded ourselves it was making us thrifty and modern and bountiful hosts and housekeepers. Lately though the focus on recipes has become a little cold and unfulfilling.

The Diners, Drive Ins and Food challenges.

We had years of the build up, now we get the hard core full frontal stuffing.

We love it. I recently discovered the food reviewers on YouTube. Daym Drops and Supertaster Daily are my most watched channels. Portly men eating fattening food and getting famous off it while a third of the world goes hungry.

Truly, we live in amazing times.

Entertaining Babies

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I am filled with insensible scorn at a fellow bloggers ideas for entertaining babies..since when did we need to find stuff to do with babies? You feed them, cuddle them, keep them clean and they do the rest. It’s quite miraculous. Among all the motor skills and picking up a language and learning not to snatch and bite, do they really need day spas? The babies that is.

We need day spas.

A day spa is a historically and medically sound part of the human condition. Throughout history the taking of thermal waters, internally and externally have been in and out of favour according to the governing bodies of the time. You turned up, stripped off, dunked and dipped and waded and sipped as long as you could stand it. You were massaged if you liked, and met like minded people along the way with which to shag, inspire or plot.

Filling your bath with bubbles and rubbing your babies feet is not a day spa.

Inviting your friend and her baby round for an afternoon of bathing is not my idea of entertainment, and I’m damn sure it aint no babies.

Let me know, am I just being a stick in the mud? Have I not lived until I’ve had a bathroom filled with the ringing of gurgling babies while they go through £20 worth of indulgent bathing product and 3 days worth of washing towels?

Reasons To Love Monday

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Monday

Such a crappy concept. Two days (if you’re lucky) is not long enough to de-compress from the week that went before. You go out Friday night, spend Saturday recovering, do it again Saturday night or chill with cocktails at a friends house and Sunday is just a mad rush of uniform washing, cleaning house and cooking. We need an extra weekend day just to recover. A buffer if you will.

It’s never bright and sunny on Monday morning. You never get paid on a Monday. You don’t even scan the bus for HOT MEN because everything is just so tedious and vile.

So, let’s think of reasons to be cheerful.

1. Make a wish list of a couple of less than a pound items on Ebay or Amazon and check them out on a Monday. Indulgence for pennies

2. Make a gorgeous lunch. Whatever Sundays dinner was, but fluffed up a bit. Roast dinners with pasta or rice are lovely and a bit different

3. Only check your YouTube subscriptions on a Monday morning

4. If you have a macro lens for your phone or camera, take a shot at a less obvious angle of something very ordinary and make your friends on Twitter or Facebook guess what it is.

5. Try a new perfume on from a tester at a local chemist or drug store

6. Really blow out your hair. Getting up a half hour early and sectioning, starting at the bottom-back, the works. You’ll be surprised how long it stays swishy and pretty.

7. Go for a coffee at a restaurant in your lunch hour. It will only cost maybe 50p more than your normal Costa and you’ll feel all swizzy and mysterious. If you make it a Monday only treat, it isn’t too extravagant

8. Schedule a playlist or make a cd of fabulous Monday songs. Blink 182, Eminem, En Vogue, Cher, Britney. All things poppy and loud and jolly. Blast it out to your party of one

9. Do something nice for someone you can’t stand and start thinking about it the week before. Let them be their usual bore-ish arsey self, but all the while you know that you are going to fix their chair/wash their cup/put their favourite biscuits on the work table and they don’t even know it was you. HA

10. Take a couple of Mondays off from your holiday entitlement every quarter if you can. Nothing makes life a bit more bearable than a duvet day or a long weekend you forgot about booking off. It can make all the difference.

Above all remember everyone is the same boat and battling their own Monday demons. Have a great week

Big Girls Little Men

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I have been overweight since I was 19, when carrying my first son made me crave Greggs pasties and ring doughnuts. Also me and his Dad lived in Whalley Range at the time of the pub shootings and to say I ate my anxiety would be an understatement. I naively thought I would lose all the baby (HA) weight after the birth, but its been 21 years and I’m still struggling with it.

All this flab has never stopped me from living a full sex life when I’ve wanted one however, in case you were wondering. What can I say, black guys like big girls. Sometimes. I get chatted up plenty and asked to dance, but often it’s not the ones I want to dance with.

It’s the little fuckers.

Something about a small mans psyche and a big girls sense of humour means the big girl little man is a combo as finger licking as chicken and fries. They make us laugh. We make them look good. Of course.

Just for once though I would appreciate a big man mountain to try on for size. You know, all bulging muscles and legs you could climb up. But they’re too busy shaking their coke fuelled arses at 18 year old size zero Barbies.

Ah, screw it..where’s little mans number?