We were supposed to not be drinking

We were supposed to not be drinking but given that I’ve spent the day producing, directing, running, editing, procuring ingredients, filming and doing wardrobe for Bella’s “How to make brownies” power point presentation with video content, there wasn’t much chance of sobriety.

The star of the show had a diva strop when it was suggested that her video would look better if she had her hair brushed and brushed her teeth.

I pointed out that her contract stipulates that she can’t look like a skank.

She wasn’t keen on my over enthusiastic direction when I asked for “tits and teeth”. In fact she pointed out that she hadn’t got any tits and I was a shit momager.

Dangerous then got to work on her long maths with our new “Nigella” for two hours whilst I took the boys to a nerf gun party. He phoned shortly after I’d arrived at the party and whispered

“Wine, wine, bring wine back with you – I can’t cope! There’s no need for enforced sobriety on a Sunday when the sun’s shining and England won!”

“It’s got nothing to do with those things, you can’t cope with our daughter and maths, can you?”

Like the dutiful wife that I am, I picked up a bottle of wine for us on the way home and then another bottle for the dog and one more for good luck.

The boys had taken it upon themselves to have a competition to see who could get the dirtiest at the party. I made them leave their clothes by the front door and make their way to the shower without touching the walls.

And in other news

I’m thinking of starting a race for people who can run with Pugs. A Pug marathon of sorts.

So many people seem to be of the opinion that pugs can’t walk or run when they are very active little dogs. Pugs aren’t just fat cute little lap dogs. They are so much more than that.

Obviously they are fat little lap dogs too.

I’m thinking of “Run Pug Run”.

An endurance test for pugs that don’t conform to stereotypes.

Are your walls full of dirty handprints?

Are your walls full of dirty handprints?

Does you fridge door have sticky finger prints all over it?

Does your staircase look like it’s got patterned wallpaper with grey smudges when in fact it’s supposed to be white?

Do you keep begging your crotchfruit to wash their hands but the little fuckers just don’t?

Are you ashamed when the sun comes out and you see what damage the little darlings have done to your once pristine home?

Window! Are your windows covered in partial palm prints? How would the police get forensic evidence if some poor deluded fucker broke into your house to steal your shit telly and a couple of IPads that don’t work because they’ve been dropped?Do you sometimes wonder how your children haven’t contracted some sort of dreadful food poisoning because their hands are so dirty?

Have you ever banged your head repeatedly against the wall whilst crying and muttering

“why me?”

Me too – Hi my name is Totes. I’ve come up with a fantastic solution to your sticky fingered problem. My innovation is going to change your life!

My eureka moment whilst I was cleaning one day.

Kid Gloves come in a variety of sizes and are totally safe for your child to play in. They fasten on securely so you know that the sweaty, greasy and filthy little hands can’t get on your paintwork or high gloss kitchen units.

They may look similar to rubber gloves with elastic bands to hold them on but they have been manufactured to the highest of standards in China. They are hypoallergenic and totally safe for your small child unless they have an allergic reaction to rubber!

Have you got a glass table? Fear not, and think of the money that you will save on Mr Muscle glass cleaner.

This advertisement was brought to you by one of the designers of the “Toddler straightjacket” which is also a must have for all families with young children!
The other designer is currently serving a short custodial sentence in Styal Prison.

Kid Gloves are just £9.99 plus postage and packing of £3.50. You can have them personalised with your little darlings names for just £5 extra.

It’s Thirsty Thursday. I will be drinking a toast to my revolutionary design this evening.

Chin chin, up yer bum Mofos!


Things that Mummy’s teach

Things that Mummy’s teach

Good manners
The value of walking to school
Oral hygiene
Personal hygiene
To consider other people’s feelings
To always try your best
To always tell the truth
Not to piss on the floor
To make your bed
To always wipe your willy or fairy
To do your homework as soon as you get it
Not to play football in the house

Things that daddy’s teach

Heating up takeaway pizza in the microwave for breakfast and how to piss standing up.

Have you ever tried helping a very tired six year old with their homework?

Have you ever tried helping a very tired six year old with their homework?

What about helping a tired and tearful six year old to do their homework whilst helping an eight year old with fractions and packing a case for a three day residential trip for a ten year old who wants to take the smelliest oldest skank trainers that she owns which you suspect are too small for her anyway?

Have you ever tried suggesting that a ten year old girl could perhaps think about taking the Converse and the Vans that are both far nicer than the smelly filthy ones that she wants to take with her?

Now, add in two loads of washing and having ironed for three hours after walking in from one and a half hours walking around a park, pretending to watch the eight year old play football with a Pug, followed by a nine year olds birthday party in Manchester.

It’s not that bad is it? I mean, it wouldn’t kill you…would it?

Now it’s 7.15 and the ten year old informs you that she also needs a packed lunch for tomorrow. You’ve got three hours of ironing to put away and you need to pop out to get travel sickness pills…

A fight on the trampoline, fucking Brazil on the telly and now Dangerous isn’t speaking to me.

Oscar also isn’t speaking to me and Bella isn’t speaking to me.

“So Zoran’s dad works on his computer and his favourite food is lasagne!”

“Look at the columns. They tell you what Zoran’s fucking dad does!”



I’m now considering running away from home. Whilst I’m out, I could get the disposable paper bags for the packed lunch, the specified eight quid pocket money and the travel sickness tablets.

Maybe tomorrow, I’m too tired now.

Fuck the patriarchy!

Fuck the patriarchy!

How to train your sexist little piggies to be less sexist little piggies.

Yesterday morning, just before school there was a gigantic and epic hissy fit thrown by Bella who claimed that her younger brother was sexist. She’s brilliant at throwing tantrums so this was nothing new. I listened to her complaint with interest.

It wasn’t blatant sexism per se. It was that casual, underhand sexism that boys learn from a young age in the playground.

All he stated was that “it’s twice as bad getting burned by a girl!”

If you’re not up on the lingo of eight year old boys, “burned” means “put down” “wittily mugged off” or “verbally chastised in a humorous way”

I talked to him about it and he claimed that it wasn’t a sexist statement. To be frank, he didn’t get what he’d said at all. He’d just copied what he’d heard at school and tried to apply it somewhere to make himself sound cool because he’s a bit of a dick sometimes. He didn’t really understand what being “sexist” was so myself and militant feminist Bella, tried to explain to him.

I’m fucking determined that my boys won’t grown up to be sexists!

I tried to explain it to him in very easy terms whilst Bella carried on foaming at the mouth and claiming that the boys in her class were sexist too. On the way to school I tried to explain in really unbelievably simple terms, female emancipation.

Somebody should make a video game about this subject as that’s the only thing that he’s interested in. It should have a dance in it.

Let me just say that some eight year old boys might get this subject but Oscar was bewildered. Either that or he’s outwitted me and he’s the slyest twat around.

We talked about the suffragettes but he didn’t really get it because trying to explain how government works and how a political party gains power can’t be done in five minutes. Oscar just looked perplexed and asked random weird questions to prove that he understood nothing of what was being said to him.

“So what about the queen Mummy?”

“It’s got fuck all to do with the queen darling, nobody mentioned her!”

As we hurried towards school, late as usual, I explained to him about the eleven year old girl who’d been shot in the head by the Taliban because she stood up for girls rights to education. He seemed to understand this a little better. I thought that the timeframe would be better for him to work on given that it was only a few years ago.



“Yes darling” I said, feeling proud that finally I’d got through to him.

I carried on with my tale of a young girl honoured for her bravery and triumphing in the face of adversity.

As I walked home from school drop off I thought what a clever Mummy I was.

“What nice boys I will raise. They will be domesticated and thoughtful. They will take an equal share of the household work. Their future wives will bow down at my feet and say what a good mother I was to them”

This morning, warming to my theme, I showed both boys the video of the lady that ran the Boston Marathon when women weren’t allowed to. If you haven’t seen it, it’s worth a watch and the comments on it are worth reading too because they are fucking hilarious. It’s doing the rounds at the moment. I explained to him that in 1967 his Nana and his granny Juju wouldn’t have been able to run a marathon if they’d have wanted to because the men said that women couldn’t run that far because they were weak.

“But Nana and Juju can’t run!” Oscar offered as only Oscar could.

“Yes but when they were twenty, if they’d wanted to run a marathon, they wouldn’t have been allowed in the race because of the sexist patriarchal society darling”

As we watched the video of the horrible race official grabbing at our heroine Kathrine Switzer for simply running a marathon, tears ran down my cheeks. I read out the words on the short video explaining how she’d finished in four hours and twenty minutes. Whilst I did this, I internally high fived myself that I’d done better than her because I’m a bitch like that.

“How many marathons has Daddy run darlings?”

“Err none”

“How many marathons has Mummy run?”

“A few?”

“That’s six darlings, six!”

“So fifty years ago women weren’t allowed to run marathons because of male oppression. So you know about sexism now and you understand that you shouldn’t say that girls aren’t as good as boys”

“Oh yeah”

Just then, Dangerous came downstairs and scratched his balls.

“Oscar and Ted have been learning that they aren’t going to be sexist pigs when they grow up! What do you say Daddy?”

“Yeah, where’s the coffee?”

“Darlings tell Daddy what we have learned about sexism please.”

Oscar looked vacant so I jogged his memory

“You remember what we talked about on the way to school yesterday…”

“Yes, Daddy, a girl got shot in the head with a big gun by some bad guys. Her eye was hanging out and her brain was all gooey but she was fine the next day so she came to live in our country!”

“No, we talked about sexism and the oppression of women and girls didn’t we”

Dangerous looks at them and said “an impression of a lady? I can do that..”

And then like the great father and humanitarian that he is, he put on his best falsetto, stood on his tiptoes, to suggest that he was wearing high heals, fluttered his eye lashes and squeaked “I’m a lady, look at me, I’m a lady!”

As a wise woman once said “fuck the patriarchy!” I think it was my militant feminist daughter.

I’m teaching them to hoover up after themselves though. It’s never too early to start.

I am now mainlining Silver Fox Gin whilst wearing;

Zara t shirt from last year about a tenner
Zara trousers from last year – under a tenner
Epic scarf from Rew

We are on the countdown to the World Cup

We are on the countdown to the World Cup. I have just procured Ted, a sticker book. Dangerous and Ted are extraordinarily excited..

I am worried about how excited they are.

I will be starting my usual help groups for those afflicted at this unusual time. There are but a few weeks in any given year when we don’t have to suffer the televised kicking of a ball by overpaid young men but every four years we get no time off despite good behaviour.

The World Cup just adds insult to injury. There is now no time in between the finish of last season and the start of the next one.

It’s like it’s big business or something.

Dangerous has just informed me that he’s thinking of buying an even bigger telly than we’ve already got, such is his enthusiasm for the “beautiful game”. He will, no doubt be buying crates of beer and buying England shirts for himself, two of the little shits and Thug Pug.

In response to his ridiculous and unfair demands for all things World Cup, I have decided to make a safe haven for myself and other women effected at this time.

First of all, look for the signs. Is your man effected? Not all are…

Have you taken delivery of a very large box that could have had a massive telly inside?

Has your other half been talking about betting odds a lot recently?

Is there a stockpile of beer in the shed or under the stairs?

Has he been buying stickers for an album claiming that they’re for your children?

Has he been humming “World in Motion” and practising the lyrics for his John Barnes rap?

Any England flags lurking about?

Fuck, check that his passport is still around and the selfish bastard hasn’t actually booked himself a plane ticket to Russia…

Once you have ascertained that he has in fact succumbed to the mass hysteria, fear not. Help is at hand.

A short sharp shock is needed, just like with any addiction. Don’t become an enabler. Don’t sit down with him and watch a couple of the matches. You will just be enabling him in his sad and pathetic addiction.

Let him get on with it. He needs to hit rock bottom before he will want to seek help.

Simply Join “Fashion Forward Bitch” where we will be helping women with advice on

When the Zara sale starts.

What size to buy in that lovely Cos dress.

Offering reasonably priced bottles of wine to go with any outfit.

Talking about Rew scarves and jumpsuits.

And generally ignoring the whole thing.

To cheer you up, I have taken some photos of my modelling for Rew today with the lovely Rachel Medicott.

I’m utterly shit at modelling so I just copied what the real one did. It really is an art form. She was like a goddess whilst I channeled Pat Butcher. The lovely photographer took a picture of me down a back alley, sitting on a beer keg.

Get looking for his passport…


I thought it a fitting tribute to post a picture of my Kate Spade cat dress.

I thought it a fitting tribute to post a picture of my Kate Spade cat dress.

The BBC said that it’s a presumed suicide.

I don’t know anything about Kate Spade other than she was an American designer who on the face of it had everything.

It’s one thing to have a talent, many people have talent but hers was recognised and she enjoyed a great deal of personal success. So many people who are talented don’t achieve what she did.

We think that these things matter but we see time and time again that success, money and recognition don’t seem to stop people from suffering depression or taking their own lives.

Nobody is immune.

We can only guess at what goes on in other people’s minds. We see bright, talented people who we think have everything to live for but maybe they have suffered huge personal loss or suffer from depression. Maybe they’ve been given a diagnosis that they can’t live with.

Fifty five is a life cut short, whatever happened.

To Kate Spade, her family and her friends.

Holiday odds

Holiday odds

If I were a betting man I could have given you odds on this shit!

First load of washing on within twenty four hours of arrival.

Dangerous getting me to drive to Beaumaris and then saying “oooooh look, we could go crabbing on the pier…”

Ted has lost his only pair of shoes. We think that it happened at the beach. He’s only lost one but he can’t wear the other. I have told him that he will have to fucking hop.
He has got flip flops so don’t worry…unless it snows.

Ted has worn and dirtied four, I repeat FOUR outfits.

We didn’t bring a towel for Trevor. Trevor the dog that won’t get his paws wet in a puddle has been in the fucking sea twice!
He has been cleaned with my towel hence the washing machine being on.

We had ice cream for breakfast at the ice cream shop. By the time that this afternoon came around, I was so hungry that there was an unfortunate incident with some Marks&Spensive Melton Mowbray snack size pork pies. I had just one as i don’t like pork pies, whilst everyone was indisposed in the sand dunes. To Dangerous’s disgust, I ate all of them. I spent the afternoon feeling sick. Dangerous spent the afternoon saying that he was glad that I felt sick because I’m
A “glutinous bitch”

The weather was nice until we arrived at the beach whereupon, I shimmied out of my only knickers and into my bikini bottoms. I expertly got my bikini top on and took my bra off under my top. As soon as I had done this, the sun went in.

The sun stayed in for the next two hours. As soon as we left the beach, it came out again.

I have failed to bring my knickers with me. I know that I got seven pairs out but they aren’t in the case.

I told the three little shits that they could have bacon and eggs for breakfast but I’ve not brought eggs. I bought some…I got them out…I put them in a bag…where is the bag with the eggs?

Trevor doesn’t like;

The Beastie Boys
Kate Tempest
The Young Fathers
Kanye West’s “Golddigger”
Alt J

All these made him howl in the car.

The three little shits didn’t like

The Beastie Boys
Kate Tempest
The Young Fathers
Alt J

However, They did like “Golddigger”

Because it has swearing. I said that I quite liked the swearing too but had a problem with the misogyny.

We arrived home just in time for an England match. Who knew?

Now – who is local to Pen Mon and needs a good run tomorrow morning?

Going on holiday for the over forty fives.

Going on holiday for the over forty fives.

I used to laugh inordinately at a work colleague who was around fifteen years my senior. She had a list of things to do before she went on her annual holiday. I laughed because I found her list a tad ridiculous. Surely the only things that you need to do before leaving for a holiday are;

Get the hedge clippers on the bikini line.

Buy loads of books, makeup, new clothes etcetera.

Mainline some milk thistle to prepare the body. Oh okay, I’m lying,I’ve never done it but I’ve heard of it.

See if you can secure the contact details of a reputable dealer in the resort that you are visiting.

Upon leaving Home, turn the water off, if you remember but fuck it if you don’t because that’s what insurance is for!

Whilst Helen (my former work colleagues) was very worldly wise, she had no crotchfruit.

I have taken her list and I have added to it as I have many crotch fruit

Get the kids hair cut, make them take off any disgusting fake tattoos that they might have placed on any part of their body, make them take off chipped nail polish and clean the black stuff from down their nails with an actual nail brush.

Once the little shits are clean, have a laundry amnesty whereupon you encourage them to hand over their favourite filthy clothes without fear of reprisals so that you can make them clean, ironed and smelling nice for the forthcoming holiday. Unfortunately they will not take this olive branch in the way in which it was intended. They will try to hand over two items and then unfortunately (for them) there will be fucking reprisals. Shit will be lost whilst pulling out filthy clothes from wardrobes where it has been stuffed, mixed in with clean and ironed clothes. Occasionally you will stop losing your shit and look in wide eyed wonder at the piles of brand new clean clothes that the three little shits have failed to wear whilst their favoured clothes which are cropped tops and skin tight denim hot pants for girls and hideous skank drug dealer clothes for boys are tattered and stained.

Seventy two hours of laundry will then commence. This will be undertaken in between fits of snarling whilst drinking copious amounts of alcohol.

As you are packing, take this opportunity to pack all the tasteful clothes that your children own giving them no opportunity to wear their usual “skank- drug dealer”type shit.

Don’t forget to put all their white trainers/converse/ anything that’s not leather shoes in the washing machine.


Shave legs, bikini line and under arms. Never use any of the epilator creams as you don’t want to be walking like you’ve had a Forrest fire down there. I once burned myself so badly with some Veet that I spent an entire two week holiday in shorts after I’d spoken to the pharmacist in Boots and they’d urged me to attend A&E with my second degree burns. You’d have thought that the pubes would never have grown again but the stubble appeared before the scabs had dropped off.

Put copious amounts of gradual self tanner on your legs.

Here is the stuff that only people of a certain age will get;

Change bed sheets so that they are clean for when you get home. I can’t begin to tell you, the pleasure that this brought me. Judge lest ye be judged too.

Move all those house plants into the shade and water them.

Move all garden containers into the shade and drench them. Consider asking a neighbour to water the garden but then remember that most of them don’t like you as your husband uses the communal bins in a way that they weren’t designed for.

Empty all bins.

Put the blue bin out for next Thursday – fucking genius!

Clean all toilets and put the lid down.

Turn the water off

Unplug everything in case of lightning strike.

You will have already cleaned the car out despite swearing that you wouldn’t.

Now teach the little shits the answers to your questions about correct car procedure


They respond


You shout “HOW?”

They respond


And you say

“That is correct!”

You are so very welcome.

I’m sure that I’ve forgotten some very important stuff but at least we are now on holiday. It will take the holiday for me to get over the preparation for the holiday.

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!