Tag Archives: postaweek2011

Well, you know, it’s like, it’s wanna them, innit?


“Well, y’know, it’s like wanna them, innit?”

What?!!?

A drunken conversation with a guest at a wedding recently made me shudder. It took all I could muster to not correct him and say “It’s one of THOSE, isn’t it?” I did resist the urge though as he was a total stranger and I thought it might be considered a bit rude. 

I didn’t actually find out what it was one of because the whole conversation was littered with, “It’s wanna them, innit?”  Trying to find out exactly what of the many what’s ( or do I mean ‘it’s’ ) was one of what was altogether too taxing for my little brain to deal with at that point.

What?

Exactly! That’s my point!

I saw this on Facebook the other day and it really made me laugh, I shared it on my ‘wall’ but wondered how many people would understand it. 

 

 

 I didn’t think I managed to learn much at school but obviously something sank in on the few occasions I actually bothered to attend. Just think, If I’d gone to school on a regular basis I’d be an absolute boffin by now – brains bursting out everywhere!

 It’s turning into a bit of a mission really, correcting the poor grammar and sloppy conversations of our young and not so young citizens. I really need to learn to be more tolerant. As it is at the moment I have the tolerance level of your average wasp on a low biorythm day.  I’m spending most days trying to stop the steam coming out of my ears and ranting about rude/stupid/lazy/bullying people. A few weeks on a desert island would do me a world of good.
 
What a shame I didn’t win the Euromillions on Friday. I could have used £148 million to buy my very own desert island. In actual fact I was furious I didn’t win, I was convinced that this week was my turn.
Oh well, it wasn’t to be. It’s just wanna them, innit?

 

So very tired


I’m sitting here all bleary eyed and knackered after being woken up at fecking twenty past fecking six afeckingain by the puppy who thinks the boiler coming on is a wake up call. Excuse my French.

Wandering around our field in my dressing gown and wellies is now a daily occurrence, I think our nearest neighbour, the one who’s house overloooks our field, thinks I’ve got Alzheimer’s or something. “Ooh look love. There she is again, wandering around in her nightclothes. Poor thing,”

The downside of these near naked, nearly nocturnal wanderings is that I’m now full of a cold and permanently knackered.  I’ll be glad when puppy can hold his wee for more than a nanosecond after realising he needs one.

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On our way back from yet another wedding fair on Tuesday night, I noticed that the sat nav map looked amazingly like lady bits. I wonder if the person who designed that road layout realised that it looks exactly like fallopian tubes, ovaries and a perfectly shaped uterus? That made me laugh all the way home.

Maybe they did it on purpose because that road is on an ancient fertility site or something. Or perhaps it was a joke. Although if I was going to make a joke road layout I’d probably have made it look like  a huge willy. I know, I know, I’m a twelve year old boy trapped in the body of a middle aged woman.

********

Well, it’s  a bit late since it’s been and gone but, Happy St Davids Day. I Hope you wore your daffodil and slayed a few Welsh dragons. St David’s Day is a sure sign that spring is on it’s way, and sure enough the weather has been gorgeous for the last couple of days. It’s precipitating persistently right now because I’m due to do two engagement shoots today and was hoping to take the couple to the local park. Ho hum.

As I sit here I’m trying to work up enough energy to get ready to go to my zumba class at 9.15 and failing.

I NEED MY BED!!!!!!

Old is when……..


OLD” IS WHEN …. Your sweetie says, “Let’s go upstairs and make love,”
and you answer, “Pick one; I can’t do both!”


“OLD ” IS WHEN … Your friends compliment you on your new alligator shoes and you’re barefoot.

“OLD” IS WHEN .. A sexy babe catches your fancy and your pacemaker opens the garage door.


“OLD” IS WHEN .. Going braless pulls all the wrinkles out of your face.

 “OLD” IS WHEN .. You are cautioned to slow down by the doctor instead of by the police.


 “OLD” IS WHEN ..”Getting a little action” means you don’t need to take any fiber today


 “OLD” IS WHEN .. An “all nighter” means not getting up to use the bathroom.



Bid me discourse and I will enchant thine ear


A small amount of kudos to you if you know where the words in the title come from before you read this post. If you don’t, the story kind of gives it away so no kudos at all in that case.

Grim, ‘orrible, windy and cold  weather greeted us again yesterday morning. It’s getting on my nerves now. I want snow or sunshine or fog, anything in fact but this sodding awful wet and windy greyness.

Boofuls, sensing my mood, suggested that we have a ride out to Blackpool and spend a few hours in the tower ballroom. We haven’t danced at all since our teacher was taken ill, it just doesn’t seem right somehow but I’m certain that he’d want us to dance. After all, he built his whole life around it.

So wearing a peculiar assortment of clothing, we set off to Blackpool. Warm coat,boots, thick cardigan against the cold of the journey, light cardigan in case it was a bit cool in the ballroom and a light, floaty dress to dance in as well as the obligatory sparkly jewellery.

We arrived at the ballroom and picked our spot. A table right on the edge of the dance floor near the mighty wurtlizer. As normal there was a good array of people. Daytrippers dancing in trainers and jeans, good amateurs, professionals practising, you can always spot them even before they start to dance, they always wear black and the men always have a waistcoat on. Yesterday there was a young couple who were amazing to watch, they’ll be going far, I think. There was a  little, elderly man dancing on his own, hopping and jumping round the floor to a quickstep with his invisible partner. And there was us.

That’s what I like about Blackpool Tower ballroom, anyone of any age and ability can take to the floor and no one bats an eyelid.

Having bagged our spot we started to strip off the boots, coats, scarves, cardigans and other outdoor paraphernalia and got the dance shoes on. Within two minutes we were quickly putting the cardigans and scarves back on as it was absolutely perishing. I think the boiler must have gone or it was a ploy on the part of the management to keep people buying hot drinks. People were dancing in fleeces!  If they didn’t actually dance in their fleeces and scarves they put them back on as soon as they sat down and then hugged their hot drinks to try and keep warm.

We spent a lovely three hours in there, waltzing, tangoing, chachachaing, jiving and rumbaing our way through the afternoon. The only dance we didn’t get to do was the foxtrot. We waited and waited for a foxtrot but eventually decided that we had to leave or risk a parking fine. As miuch as I love a foxtrot, I don’t love it fifty quids worth. As soon as we were all togged up for outside again on went a foxtrot. Dagnabbit!

Of course, being in Blackpool we had to go to Harry Ramsden’s for his famous fish, chips and mushy peas – and it didn’t disappoint. All I can say about that is: nomnomnomnomnom.

Well done, Boofuls. Boredom strop successfully averted, we had a lovely day out. Shame about the cold.

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This is my 1000th post apparently. In honour of the occasion  and to start the new year I will be posting my very first post  as post 1001 tomorrow. Ooh, bet you can’t wait for that.

What is it with men and boxes?


And men say women are unfathomable? Even after twenty six years of marriage I still can’t understand my husband’s total inability to throw away packaging.

One of his gifts from Father Christmas this year was a lovely sonic toothbrush to keep his recently whitened pearly whites bright enough to use as a torch on a dark night. I could see that he was completely underwhelmed by Santa’s generosity and the box has laid, unopened on the dressing table since the big day. Obviously he has no idea how much Santa forked out for this bit of electronic wizardry, over £100 it was and that was half price.

Fook! It’s only a toothbrush!!!

As he sauntered into the bedroom this morning prior to starting his morning ablutions ( Hubby, not Santa), I enquired scathingly as to whether the aforementioned toothbrush was going to sit on my dressing table unopened for the next two years before I finally give it away to a charity shop. “No, no, I’m going to use it right now,” he said as he scooped it up quickly and made a show of opening it.

After a brief discussion about the merits, or not, of  copious amounts of unnecessary packaging and ‘perceived value’, he popped the empty box into his wardrobe.

What? Memories of clearing out the hay loft in the stable  a couple of years ago swam into my hand. Boofuls had saved all manner of boxes. Boxes from just about anything we’d ever bought were up there. There were boxes inside boxes, big boxes, small boxes, boxes with padding, boxes with polystyrene inserts, boxes of all shapes and sizes all just waiting for that magical day. The ‘you never know when we’ll need one of those’ day.

“Did you just put that empty box in the wardrobe? Why, Boofuls, why would you do that?”

“It’s got the instructions in it.”

“It’s a toothbrush, Boofuls, How hard can it be?”

The box was duly removed from the wardrobe to be swiftly collapsed and shoved into the recycling bin by me and Boofuls  went to try out his new toothbrush.

Five minutes later he was back. “Look at this!!!”,  he cried excitedly as he flashed his pearly gnashers at me, “It’s amazing! I can’t believe what a diffentence it’s made!”

I felt a huge smile spread over my face, not a present fail after all then.

Telly fest


Ok, so Boxing day wasn’t all I thought it was going to be. In fact it ended up as nothing but a great big telly fest. The end result of slumping in front of the telly for hours and hours on end is that now I can’t sleep. Bugger it.

What happened then?

As planned, Boofuls and me set of to Len’s Mum and Dad’s for drinkies and buffet with their extended family.

On the way there we both voiced our concern to each other that we felt a bit like we were gatecrashing a family event – even though we’d been invited.

You know that feeling when a group is really comfortable together and then new people come along and change the dynamic, creating a bit of an atmosphere? Well it was a bit like that. Everyone was trying really hard but it was, well,  hard.  So we made our excuses after a short while and left as we felt we were ruining what would otherwise have been a nice party.

So that was it. Wall to wall telly and chocolates. Groan. At least it was decent telly. Think I may need to go for a really long walk with Mrs Woofy tomorrow.

In the meantime, I’ll get on with processing some photographs from a baby bump shoot I did last week. An hour or so of that should be soporific enough to do the trick and send me off to the land of zzzzzzzzzzz’s

 

The Feast of Stephen


Firstly: Apologies for the terrible spacing. I think WordPress may have partaken in a bit too much of the Christmas spirit, nothing is staying where I put it.

 

So, we visited, drank, ate, opened presents, laughed, hugged, kissed and played family games through Christmas Day. What a fantastic day is what. By 10pm I was absolutely exhausted and slumped on the settee watching Strictly Come Dancing as my eyelids drooped and sleep called.

In honour of the perfect day we had yesterday, and to nod in the direction of The Feast of Stephen today, I thought we’d gather round and sing a few carols. Ready?

Let’s start with that old favourite, ‘We Three Kings’

We Three Kings

We three kings of Orient are,

One in a taxi, one in a car,

One on a scooter, blowing his hooter,

Wearing his girlfriends bra.

While Shepherds Watched Watched Their Flocks

While shepherds washed their socks by night

all watching ITV

the angel of the Lord came down

and switched to BBC.

And now that Christmas Day is over, let’s celebrate The Feast of Stephen by singing together my  personal favourite:

Good King Wenceslas

Good King Wenceslas looked out

Of his bedroom winder.

Silly bugger he fell out

On a red hot cinder.

Brightly shone his bum that night,

Though the pain was cru-el.

Then a doctor came in sight,

Sitting on a muuu-uuu-el

Aaaah, there’s nothing like a good old singalong to brighten the sprits and get the day off to a good start.

Yesterday was lovely.
As normal, we arrived at bezzie mates good and early. Her son and partner were there with their baby, Lashes and Len were there as well with Munki who was amazed that father Christmas had obviously got all his houses mixed up as he’d left presents absolutely everywhere for her!
The Rev and Gembolina were next on the visiting list. My two glasses of champers at bezzie mates were followed with a very nice glass of sherry. I always feel a bit like a vicar’s wife when I drink sherry and can’t resist saying , “More tea, Vicar?”  as I hold out my glass for a refill. The clingons were excited and lively as they unwrapped their presents. Mrs Woofy was outside in the garden and watching through the patio window, obviously wanting to join in with the excitement and she’d occasionally run round in circles, jump about and then come for another look through the window. Munki was once again amazed that there were yet more presents for her to open.
After a flying visit there we popped round to Len’s Mum and Dad’s. As usual their hospitality was generous. “Have a glass of Buck’s Fizz.” “Umm, ok then.”   Now, all I would say about drinking early in the morning is this: If you don’t normally drink at ten in the morning then the day you need to cook an enormous meal and entertain people all day probably isn’t the best day to start. By this time my eyes were looking at each other and I was well and truly feeling the christmas spirit! We certainly were all merry and bright, as the carol goes.
I soon got over the urge to find a quiet corner to sleep in when we got home and it was time to open our gifts to each other. Father Christmas has been extremely generous this year, sending me a book  by Dawn French and Miranda Hart’s biography as well as others that I can’t wait to get started on –  and lots of other goodies. Munki’s eyes nearly popped out of her head when she saw yet more presents. Isn’t three just the perfect age to accept all the magic of Christmas without question?  She was delightful to watch.
Then it was into the kitchen. The cook fest of the previous day had certainly paid off. Getting the dinner out on the table was a doddle.  It always seems like a good idea having an umpteen course meal till you actually start eating it. We took a break between courses to watch the Inbetweeners film. More suited to the mentality of an eighteen year old boy than a fifty one year old woman it had me alternating between cringing and guffawing. Sophisticated it is not.
A few games of fiddlesticks, bingo and funny faces ( yes, we know it’s a kid’s game but it made us laugh) finished the day off nicely.
I know Christmas can be a time of tension in lots of families when they are thrown together and have to pretend to get on.
We had the best day yesterday I have to say that I feel truly blessed to have the family and friends I’ve got.
Did I mention that I love Christmas?

Christmas Eve


Christmas Eve!

Hold on a sec while I go and take sausage meat and pigs in blankets out of the freezer…….Thanks for waiting.

That wouldn’t be good  – Christmas dinner with no pigs in blankets or sausage meat stuffing. So it’s all ready, shopping done days ago, presents wrapped, house cleaned, trimmed up  and ready to receive a stream of visitors. I love Christmas. All we need now is a nice blanket of snow and it’ll all be just perfect. Not much chance of a white Crimbo this year though with temperatures at 10 degrees, rain and blustery winds. I hope Rudolph doesn’t get blown off course! But just in case he does I have a nice little stash of pressies upstairs that might find their way under our tree.

It’s a peculiar thing about  Christmas. During the last few days when people are out shopping, there is always a different atmosphere in the air. I always find that people are friendlier, smilier and more polite – far more inclined to wait and hold a door open for you than at any other time of year when they’d probably let it drop in your face. You can hear, “Happy Christmas” , “All the best” and other greetings to and from people who would hardly get a nod at any other time of year. Even a total stranger with a trolley laden with all sorts of goodies and crossing the car park at the same time as me cheerfully wished me  a happy Christmas.  Seriously. What’s not to love about Christmas? I really does have a touch of magic about it.

The plan for today is to make a start on tomorrow’s feast. I’m making Boofuls some parsnip and apple soup because he won’t like the starter the rest of us are having. This year we aren’t having the traditional smoked salmon and prawns. This year we’re having king prawns wrapped in bacon and fried in garlic butter. Ok, I know it’s not the healthiest option, more of a heart attack on a plate but I’m working on the basis that since I eat healthily 99…98…..better make that 85% of the time I’m not going to worry about it.  I’ll cook the turkey today so I don’t need to try and do it after our annual champagne and croissant breakfast at bezzie mates in the morning. Hic.

I think I might make the root veg mash as well today as well as the traditional sherry trifle. OH! Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the waaaaaaaay!!!

The other day, Gembolina, Lashes and me took the clingons to a huge garden centre known for it’s fabulous Christmas displays. We weren’t disappointed. It was A-MAZ-ING! Dancing snowmen! Polar bears! We were giddy with excitement.

Dancing snowmen
Polar bears

Here’s of picture of our gorgeous granddaughters. It was Batty’s birthday yesterday. Aaaw I remember vividly the day she was born. Due on Millennium day, she was a bit early and greeted everyone by projectile vomiting on them. That was the start of six weeks in the special care unit but just look at her now, a gorgeous and confident young lady. I wish there were words to adequately describe how much I love my family. Sigh (wipes away tears of pride).

All three clingons

I was chatting with Paprika Furstenberg ( go and have a read, she’s a funny, funny lady) via the comment box the other day about accents and words that are peculiar to our own countries. Apparently her favourite English work is ‘gobsmacked’ good call. I was a bit gobsmacked when I discovered that.

Just as a little seasonal gift to her I am going to expand her knowledge of Lancashire dialect, courtesy of our nearest neighbour, the Lanky born and bred  farmer or as he says it ‘furmer’, who even occasionally has me guessing as to what he’s actually meaning.

So here we go:

Saying:  Am a feart.

Have you worked out what it means yet?  If not I’ll give you the answer at the end.

When it’s said out loud it sounds remarkably like ‘I’m a Fiat.’

So in the absence of auditory clues you need to be looking for visual and contextual clues. If the person in question is holding up their arms to chest height as if holding a steering wheel and running round the room saying ‘brum brum’ then they probably do mean, ‘I’m a Fiat’ in which case a call to the nearest mental health facility might be in order, unless they are four years of age, then it’s entirely appropriate.

If however, they are standing in front of you white faced, shaking, with their eyes as wide as saucers and  rolling round in their heads then they probably mean, “Ahm a feart.’

Got it yet?

Meaning: I’m scared.

Tune in for another Lanky dialect lesson soon.

Happy Christmas  everyone. Just to get you in the mood, here are a couple of photos of Mrs Woofy in her Christmas scarf from when it was snowing last week.

Snowy lane
Mrs Woofy in her new Christmas scarf