“I’ve been sick Mummy!

“I’ve been sick Mummy! I won’t be going to school tomorrow! You can’t go into school for forty eight hours after you’ve been sick!” Said the little shit who looked extraordinarily pleased with himself and not at all ill.

“Nice try dude but I happen to know that you drank a smoothie and then bounced on the trampoline until you vomited” said the very clever bitch who’d just finished the gargantuan pile of holiday ironing and started on the good gin.

The clever bitch thought that it was a very good job that she’d sussed the little bugger out or she’d have had to get the 57% proof gin out.

Two weeks off and he tries that, the night before going back.

I said that there was a discount code for the Crush gin and I’ve found it. It’s available on Amazon and the code is VVHD 338V.

You can use it on the 57% proof one too.

You are welcome.

I’m off to Thumbelina’s fortieth birthday party

I’m off to Thumbelina’s fortieth birthday party. As it’s national Gin Day. I will be drinking gin. I will be drinking gin whilst giving all my wonderful worldly advice about why her forties are going to be fucking epic. She probably just wants to get pissed and dance but she’s going to have to listen to my shit advice too.

I have even bought her a present. I bought her what I wanted for myself but I bought it in teeny weeny size. I’m still unsure that it’s small enough.

I’m half way through my forties so I’m the best placed person to offer lots of brilliant advice on this halfway point in life.

Forty sounds scary but it’s an excellent decade to finally get to know yourself and stop giving so many fucks about things that don’t matter.

Forty something is the ideal age to;

Try a new hairstyle. I spent so many of my younger years with blonde hair in a pony tail. It was really boring but it was my security blanket. I used to have nightmares that I’d had my hair cut really short and hated it. When I finally got my hair cut super short, I loved it.

Try a new look, stop trying to be so feminine and girly. I’ve been watching “Love Island” and whilst it’s fair to say that I was never as slim and toned as the girls are on that programme, neither are most people. The contestants all look the same. They’ve got that really long, ironed flat or spiral hair, false eyelashes, contouring thing going on. I’m sure that they wouldn’t want to look like me either but I’m glad that I’m not young now, it looks like really hard work. It looks a lot harder work than when I was in my twenties. Not many fuckers in their forties has got time for the sort of effort that goes into looking like that because we’ve got better stuff to do like…

Reading a book whist drinking gin.

Trying a different career, do things on your terms. If you’ve had kids and taken some time off work, why not take stock and see if there’s something that’s more fitting to where you’re at now.

Being kinder to yourself.

Having more baths.

Buying yourself lots of presents.

Drinking fucking lots of wine.

Stopping ironing stuff or only ironing whilst drinking wine.

Wearing loads of bright clothes.

Learning to breakdance

Singing brilliantly at karaoke bars

Running lots of marathons

Taking up yoga and any other number of things that hitherto you would have considered “beardy weirdy”

I’m not going to tell her about all the shit stuff about being in your forties because she hasn’t got any wrinkles and she’s only given birth once so she’s probably got a better pelvic floor than me.

Happy Birthday Thumbelina AKA Stacey, let’s get pissed up and I’ll teach you to breakdance a la Totes.

And to everyone else Happy National Gin Day

Chin chin Up yer bum Mofos.

The crush gin is very nice and I think that I’ve got a discount code somewhere.

Running with a hangover. Know the facts!

Running with a hangover.

Know the facts!

It has long been known that getting up and going for a run when one has overindulged in the Chablis is going to either “kill or cure” but do you know all the facts about Running whilst hungover?

Stop – think about it!


If you get it wrong, you could spew on your hundred quid trainers!

First you need to ascertain, are you actually hungover or could you still be pissed?

There is a massive difference. You need to be very sure what you are dealing with.

A simple test is to put on a Taylor Swift Tune. If you start hopping around and pretending that you’ve got a microphone, then you are still pissed. If the sound of Taylor being all chirpy makes you want to strangle someone and vomit, then you are hungover.

Never run whilst still pissed. It can be extraordinarily dangerous. The owner of your local kebab shop may become very annoyed if you lick his windows, and demand that he open up at 9.00 am whilst wearing your Asics and fluorescent bum bag. Everyone knows that you can’t eat a kebab whilst running.

Other problems that can arise from running whilst still pissed are

Hedge jumping.

Falling over kerbs

Getting run over.

Talking to ninety two year old Mrs Smith from up the road about men you’d quite like to bang.

Zig zagging.

Scaring people with your breath.

Getting thrown out of park run for tripping people up whilst shouting “HA,TRY BEATING ME NOW MOTHERFUCKER!”

Failing to set your Runkeeper/Garmin/ properly so that you fail to record your running prowess.

Talking to the lady on Runkeeper and telling her that she is in fact wrong about how far you’ve run and you are actually running much fucking faster than she has suggested.

Dancing and singing loudly to music that you can hear through earphones that no fucker else can.

Having a little cry when Adele comes on in your earphones.

Hopping aboard a barge on your local run down the canal to pretend to be Rose on the Titanic.

The test of a true hangover is to get a nice policeman to get you to blow in the bag.
I approached a policeman, sat in his van this morning on Brooklands Road and he didn’t seem keen on giving me a breath test “in the name of science or for any other fucking reason!”

You’re going to have to make the call yourself with the Taylor Swift thing.

Once you have ascertained that you do in fact have a hangover, Here are some top tips.

Plan your route well. Make sure that if you are going to vomit in someone’s garden, that it’s someone that you aren’t keen on.

Keep away from canals as cyclists don’t take kindly to being forced off the tow path and into the water.

The Geese at the moment are particularly violent which fucks with your head when hungover. Trying to headbut the little bastards whilst hanging out of your arse is particularly difficult.

Make sure you’ve got the right kit – you will need your oldest running clothes on and the following;

Fluids, it might be wise to take a shopping trolley full of large bottles Of Lucozade Sport and water for all your hydration needs. You can borrow one from your local Aldi, they won’t mind.

Toilet roll, in case you need a shit.

Clean pants in case you get caught short and shit yourself.

A first aid kit, in case of running related injuries. You can put this in the shopping trolley with your nine pack of toilet roll and spare clothes.

A good friend to take photos of you, should you fall and to moan incessantly to about how unbelievably ill you feel. If they are a very good friend, they can also assure you that any fears you have about the previous evening are unfounded.

A hat and sun glasses to disguise your shame.

Paracetamol, ibuprofen.

A hair of the dog and a packet of crisps waiting for you at home.

Now, if you see a Lycra clad, fluorescent bum bag wearing runner that looks like they could have shit their pants pushing a supermarket trolley overloaded with water, Lucozade sport and being followed by two pissed off looking Canadian Geese, heading towards a kebab shop, you will know that they had a pretty fucking heavy night out, last night!

It’s Sunday. We are live from the pub.

It’s Sunday. We are live from the pub. I can hear a child shouting that they hate their parent and that they are going to kill them from a nearby garden.

There is nowhere better to be than in the United Kingdom when the sun is shining.

Here are the top ten reasons to invite friends over and either sit in the garden or head to a beer garden, drinking wine/Prosecco/gin today.

1, it’s the bank holiday weekend!

2, the sun is actually shining! It never usually shines on the bank holiday weekend. The universe is trying to tell you something. Fucking get out there before the thunder storms start!

3, you really deserve it for you have been a very good person!

4, the ironing can wait because no fucker is going to school or work until at least Tuesday.

5, sitting in the sun boozing will boost your vitamin D production which you need for vitamin C absorption.

6, drinking wine in the sun is good for your soul. It will make you happy and everyone loves a happy person.

7, besides that’s what everyone else is doing! You really don’t want to be left out.

8, the washing/washing up/DIY will still be there tomorrow. Obviously I’m going to suggest that you do something similar very tomorrow.

9, the kids love a beer garden, as does the dog and the husband. Ok the kids don’t love it as much as they could do but in a minute, they will ask the waitress for the WiFi password.

10, you can pretend that you are on your holidays as you have a pint or a glass of wine with your full English.

We have been in the pub since 12.00. Please keep me up to do date with what you are doing as I slide into alcohol fuelled heat stroke whilst laughing about the people that have paid to go abroad. Obviously I won’t be laughing when we arrive in Wales on Friday and have to wear wellies and a wooly hat but at least, I’ll already have a tan!

Photos – I need photos.

A list of things that you will need to survive for the next two weeks.

A list of things that you will need to survive for the next two weeks.

Sauvignon Blanc
A nice Pinot noir
WiFi for the little shits – please phone ahead to anywhere that you might be visiting so as to avoid bitter recriminations.
Batteries and fucking plenty of them.
A glazier on speed dial as the little shits have started playing football indoors.
A supermarket delivery slot every day to provide crisps, pork products, milk and weetabix for the child that eats like two grown men.
More patience than usual
Stain removal
Loads of cash
Profanity filter
Bucket and spade to be used as weapons.
Sun cream that probably won’t be needed.
New crabbing nets.
New sandals/crocs/flip flop for everyone
Travel sickness tablets
Cool box
Beach towels
Spare clothes for when they fall in the sea.
The coastguard to be on high alert
Paracetamol and ibuprofen for hangovers
A good book to take with you but only read three chapters of
A winter coat and wooly hat for everyone apart from Mum.
Tan accelerator for Mum
Fake tan for Mum.
Sick bags for the car
Cricket bats, balls, tennis rackets, skittles, football etc
Drafts and chess set for when their is no WiFi
Trivial pursuits so that Mum and Dad can argue bitterly in the evening whilst pissed up on wine.
Plasters, bandages and disinfectant for the injuries sustained when the little shits have a full on punch up or fall down some stairs
The address of the local NHS walk in centre.

Things that you won’t need

Kids toothbrushes as there’s no need for them to brush their teeth whilst on holiday.
Any nice clothes as it will be bitterly cold on the pier whist you are crabbing.

And a couple of useful tips from a pro.

Do not clean the fucking car out! Do not waste your time! It’s going to have half a beach, a dog, three filthy kids and vomit in it!

Don’t forget to lose FiveLive radio station so that you are not forced to endure it as you drive your family around the Welsh countryside.

Remember capsule wardrobe, do not take half your wardrobe and thirty seven pairs of shoes with you.

Obviously if you are going abroad, none of this applies and you can fuck off, you big show off!

Shit the bed, it’s half term!

I have had a very important meeting today

I have had a very important meeting today in which it was decided that we are definitely going to have an official “Totes Inappropes” “Fashion Forward Bitch” meet up in Manchester.

What do you think to a Saturday afternoon in November? November seems such a long time away but it will be around in a flash.

Obviously, I will have nothing to do with any organising as I am a fuck up of the highest magnitude. Nobody has forgiven me for my redirecting money to the wrong brewery last time we organised a piss up in a brewery. It would seem that I can indeed “organise a piss up In a brewery” but the proceeds for the event will be misappropriated.

So what do you think about some fashion, shopping, boozing and maybe some breakdancing in November?

Surely, we could organise a disco as well for later on when we’ve all spent up and drunk too many cocktails.

How much trouble could we get in?

Have any of the proposed venues got adequate insurance?

Will the Christmas markets be able to take the extra nutters in attendance?

Who will be on the door?

Will there be a fashion show?

Who would model if there were to be one?

Would there be makeovers?

What will be on the playlist?

So many questions…

On our England, sun shining,

On our England, sun shining,
Allergy sufferers whining,
As we bask in this weather,
Our Fair skin, it turns to leather,

We spend our time, sat in the sun
Alcohol fuelling our special brand of fun.

We’ve shaved our very hairy legs,
Later, Crying over Harry and Megs,
Cleaned the bird shit off the car,
Later Propping up the bar,
Buying ice cream from the van,
Sipping warm cider from a can,
Getting our arms rather red
Scoffing burned meat enveloped in bread,
Sitting in the garden next to the bin,
Quaffing new varieties of gin,
Putting the washing on the line
Obviously Drinking gargantuan amounts of wine,

Got dehydrated in the sun
Grabbed the last beef burger buns
Loaded trolley up with booze
Got sozzled, had a snooze.
Worn a brand new summer frock
Little shits, they ran amok
Factor fifty on the pale
Barbecuing for the males.

Fifty quid paddling pool
Punctured before they return to school
Overheating beloved family pet,
Lining pockets of fucking vet.
Thrown the salad in the bin
Wondered why we are not thin?
Woken early, drenched in sweat
Hangover, the ever constant threat.

Ice lolly’s, sweaty sandals are a must
Last years barby turned to rust
Garden used to be so cool
Now become our special doggy’s loo.
Trampoline death trap,wrestling ring
Husband freckled, barbecuing king.

Monday, back to work we trot
Moaning “I don’t like it, it’s too hot”
That’s it, its all done now
Next nice weekend is in October.

The bi-annual barbecue purchase and assembly

The bi-annual barbecue purchase and assembly.

And now for the true entertainment of the day which is watching Dangerous assemble a barbecue.

Every other year, we buy a barbecue. For the first year, and because said barbecue cost anything between fifty and a hundred quid, we look after it. The second year, we leave it out and let the fucker rust.

Dangerous is in charge. He phoned me from Homebase and asked if he should buy a gas one or or a normal one. His father is looking on and offering words of encouragement. His father really wants to rip the screwdriver out of his hand and do a better job than Dangerous is doing but he’s too nice.

We have no tomato ketchup!

I have been to Marks&Spensive and Aldi and we have no bastard Tomato ketchup. We usually have a stockpile of at least three or four bottles. It’s not as though I didn’t know. All week, we have been without.

And in other news, my friend just said that she felt sorry for Meghan Markke’s mum.

I said that she need not worry. She’ll be hanging out of her arse now, having a spliff in the bogs with princess Eugenie and asking Prince Phillip if he has the number of a good dealer.

I suppose that if you’re invited to the reception, you will have your phone taken off you and have to sign a confidentiality agreement. I wish that I’d think sort of thing when entering into a night out scenario.

We are having steak, sausages and burgers. We are drinking Sauvignon Blanc. Trevor is excited about the steak, though not as excited as he gets about cake. What the fuck is that about? Should dogs even eat cake?

What are you having this evening?

I have taken a mental health day

I have taken a mental health day.

Everybody should do this now and again because it’s good for the soul.

It was good for my soul.

I have been having a bit of a hard time of it recently but today I realised that what I’ve been worried about is inconsequential. Nobody has died, my children are healthy and there are no real areas of concern. We have a roof over our heads and we live in a country that although not perfect, is not war torn nor poverty stricken. I know people who have real problems and mine aren’t that. I have just become too concerned with what, people who don’t know me, think of me.

I’ve decided today, to change that.

It was good for my soul.

Deciding to change my stance on something rather than let it get me down, was good for my soul.

I got up at the crack of dawn and went for the best run with my friends. It was cold and misty Not a soul was around as we set off. It was a bit eerie, not at all like Timperley. As we passed our statue of Frank Sidebottom, our voices echoed in an unusual way. No cars passed us and nobody was popping out for a paper. Sometimes a run and a moan is all you need to lift your spirits. We went down the canal where we played our “Hello, good morning ” game with other runners but they were having none of it.

We laughed at the miserable bastards.

Sometimes laughing at people that fail to acknowledge you is good for the soul.

We saw the man that we once accidentally knocked into a Bush and he did say hello.

The fact that this man can be so polite and smiling despite him ending up head first in a bush once at our hands, makes my day every time we see him.

As the mist burned away, I walked the kids to school and my lovely friend asked if we should take Thug Pug and have a cuppa outside Costa. Thug Pug was in an unusual mood where he saw fit to bark and howl at people and inanimate objects. I apologised to the other people, sat outside drinking coffee and smoking fags but the said that they didn’t mind at all.

He howled at Frank Sidebottom and he barked at a bin.

Sometimes a cuppa enjoyed whilst your dog is howling and you are sat in the sun is good for the soul.

As I run too much and have no core strength, don’t stretch and generally abuse my body, I have been thinking for a while that I should try Yoga. I haven’t done this as I’m scared of trying new things because I’m a big fat wuss.

Today I tried Yoga. Trying something new and enjoying it was brilliant.

It was good for my soul.

A lovely lady that I know organised the class as she’s newly qualified. She was having a practise before she starts the class properly next week.

It felt good to help her out and good to enjoy something new.

You’re getting to know it now, it was good for my soul.

I sat in the garden and contemplated my day. I decided to do nothing more.

I didn’t hoover, I didn’t dust and I didn’t look at any work.

It was good for my soul.

My problems aren’t that big. I write a blog and organise a couple of groups. Somewhere along the way, I’ve pissed a few people off but I’ve decided to stop bothering about the negatives.

Not everyone will like me just as I don’t like everyone. We can’t get on with everyone.

So what if I get the occasional message to say that a person hates me? So what if upon occasion I get five or six in a day? I can choose to ignore them.

I can choose to believe that these people don’t know me and that there words say more about them than they do about me.

I tell my eldest this a lot. I tell her that if someone is unkind to her, then it says more about them than it does about her.

I just didn’t tell myself the same thing.

So, whilst sat in the sun today, I did.

It was good for my soul.

I picked the little shits up from school and gave them a cuddle.

It was good for my soul.

Then I had a fuck off piece of chocolate cheese cake and a glass of wine.

And that was the best for my soul.

Chin chin up yer bum Mofos, to both the lovers and the haters.

If you fancy a yoga class next week, then I can highly recommend Vanessa who is running a class from 11.30 Tuesday at Bowdon Parish centre. Bowdon Cheshire.

Some days you need to put some red lipstick on

Some days you need to put some red lipstick on, a pretty frock with cats on and put your best foot forward. Sometimes life’s a bit shit but you’ve got to take the rough with the smooth.
When all else fails, give the dog a cuddle, have a glass of wine and resort to internet shopping.

Do not start on the fucking biscuits!

Shit, I started on the biscuits but never mind, I’ll run them off tomorrow.

How many calories in a whole packet of “all butter – fruit and oat cookies?”

So I’m running a half marathon tomorrow morning!