Reasons to have a really fucking massive glass of wine now!

Reasons to have a really fucking massive glass of wine now!

The sun is shining.

It’s Saturday, unless of course you don’t read this until Sunday, but don’t worry – the same applies on Sunday.

Wine is good for you.

You should never trust anyone that doesn’t drink.

It will make you happy.

It is proven that when tipsy, you can’t see how dirty your house is.

It’s also proven, that when slightly tipsy, your husband is more alluring and less annoying.

Wine has anti ageing properties.

If your husband has a glass too, he is less likely to notice the big bag of happiness that you bought to cheer yourself up today in Zara/H&M/Marks and Spensive.

Wine tastes nice.

Wine is good for the soul.

Wine makes you a better person

Wine makes you a better dancer.

Wine is a good fuel for your run tomorrow.

The little shits go back to school on Monday.

Did I mention that wine is nice?

Drinking wine is good for the economies of places like New Zealand, Argentina and France.

I have new wine glasses, you may not have but never mind.

Mmmmm wine…

Totes Inappropes Holiday club for little shits

Totes Inappropes Holiday club for little shits.

Terms and conditions

Please read and accept our terms and conditions.

Totes Towers Easter Holiday Destination for unruly little fuckers.

I certify that I and any children that I invite to Totes Towers will follow these very fair rules that the establishment has implemented to avoid risk of injury or death.

I understand that Mummy expects all children to be either “in or out”. They must make a decision. They shall not dither with the back door open, nor repeatedly fling open and bang the door shut whilst running backwards and forwards from the playroom to the trampoline. The natural environment of the rear patio area means that shoes must be worn at all times. If shoes are not worn, trip or slip hazards may be encountered, along with risk of injury by stone chippings.

In regard to the above mentioned point, the management would like to point out that the cleanliness of the premises will be compromised leading to escalating Running costs to the premises hereby know as Totes Towers. Fluctuations in temperature occur when the door is opened and shut repeatedly. Any repetitions of “You’re either in or out. Make a decision!” Are not an infringement of copyright. All loyalties to Totes’s mother will hereby be honoured.

I understand that if I wear my socks outside and make the soles filthy, Totes Towers Easter holiday club for little shits management reserve the right to go batshit crazy. The management reserves the right to forfeit any pocket money/birthday money to replace these valuable resources.

I confirm that the establishment has the right to go absolutely fucking apoplectic if seventeen pairs of wet socks are found hidden down the side of the trampoline.

In relation to the aforementioned trampoline, I concur that this piece of equipment is for sporting activities only. Any reenactment of gladiator style battles or WWE type mashups whereby the netting is used like the ropes in a wrestling/boxing ring will result in an instant exclusion.

I confirm that I will wash my hands when asked to. If my hands are filthy, I will not wipe them on the walls of the staircase as I’m running up and down fighting with my siblings
I will adhere to the code set out in subsection iii in relation to toilet etiquette.

I will not encourage the dog to play with the toilet roll, nor will I piss on the seat, nor throw empty toilet roll innards onto the floor creating a trip hazard.

I confirm that I will not have a hissy fit/nervous breakdown if Mummy asks me to put my IPad/Xbox controller down.

I confirm that I have not lied about the existence of any homework that may need to be completed for my return to school.

I confirm that if Mummy is under the influence of drink or drugs, I will not tell anyone.

I confirm that I will not fuck with the dog, to make him go mental and then complain and cry when he bites me despite having being warned twenty eight times about the outcome of such behaviour.

I can absolutely confirm that I will not under any circumstances, hide half eaten Easter eggs behind books and pieces of furniture in my bedroom as I understand that this attracts vermin.

I understand that if I lie about having brushed my teeth, then they will fall out eventually. The odour emitted from my breath will be enough for management to demand that they be brushed.

Dehydration caused by none drinking of fluids provided on site is entirely the responsibility of patrons.

I understand that I must wear wellies for excursions to walk the dog that has bitten me.

No kicking, biting, gouging, scratching, punching, nipping, stamping, pushing will be tolerated on Totes Towers Premises.

I will adhere to the strict “no weapons” policy.

The usage of earphones is strictly prohibited to drown out instructions given by Mummy.

Subsection II

I understand that it is my responsibility to flush waste from the WC.

I confirm that if I throw the towel on the floor after I have merely wet my hands and made mud in the downstairs hand wash basin, the management reserve the right to terminate me.

Subsection III

Toilet etiquette and other bacterial biohazard
I hereby give consent for samples to be taken to conclude who didn’t flush away human waste.

I also give permission for my fingerprints to be retained on record for instances of handprints on Windows.

I have understood and will abide by the Rules of Totes Towers


48 Hours and still unable to walk – post marathon

48 Hours and still unable to walk – post marathon.

The relentless Easter holidays continued.

We took the three crotchfruit to Liverpool for a day of culture and sophistication. As I am an artistic and cultured Mum, I wished to impart some of my pretensions to my offspring No soft play for us! I laugh in the face of dirty overpriced soft play areas when it’s raining during the holidays. I take the kids to places that will mould their futures and enlighten their minds. Oh-okay, I took them to the Tate to see the Roy Lichtenstein exhibition at the Tate. It took me a week to convince Dangerous that it was a good idea. He still bears the mental scars of previous enlightening days out. He was still unsure when he arrived.

I drove the car down the wet motorway, despite my leg not having the strength to press the clutch. Dangerous still refuses to drive the smelly Nissan. He says that it is not his sort of car. I believe that it is more to do with the his liking of drinking two pints at lunch time to get over the trauma of eating out with the kids.

To be honest, I was slightly worried as well when we arrived in Liverpool.

My children have form for mild disruption in exhibition spaces.

Dangerous needn’t have worried. I needn’t have worried. It wasn’t as bad as the time at The Whitworth Art Gallery. It wasn’t as bad as the time that we got told off for Oscar stroking a tapestry. No nobody actually died…nothing was actually damaged…

Not since I took them to see the Grayson Perry exhibition at the Manchester art gallery have I seen museum staff move so quickly. The staff have obviously been well trained for terrorist situations. The string that mustn’t be stepped over to get to the works of art was quickly realigned to maximum breadth as the museum worker called for back up on his walkie-talkie.

I had the man looking after the first floor exhibition space with me within ninety seconds of entering the room with the Rothko. He looked pained as he explained to Oscar why he couldn’t touch a fifty year old photographic piece of a man slowly disappearing into some mud. He explained that the work of art was made of Perspex and would easily scratch if Oscar carried on pretending to be a Ninja attacking a pack of wolves next to it.He tried patiently to impart his ideas to Oscar, going so far as to get down to his level and look him in the eye whilst Oscar stoically refused to answer him or even look at him.

As this poor man was reaching for his inhaler and wondering if he still had the phone number of a good dealer for after he’d finished his shift, a group of fifty French students also entered his space.

I swear to god that I could have walked out with one of the smaller pieces under my arm.

If anybody is looking to carry out any sort of art theft, I can hire out my children to you at very favourable rates. They make very good decoys.

The kids wanted McDonalds. I gave them a Brazilian feast at an upmarket restaurant on Castle street. I made them put their cutlery in the correct hands too.

So all in all,

Smug Parents 2 – 0 Heathen crotchfruit.

We ate at Viva Brazil. It was a surprisingly good idea as it’s one of those places where they bring meat to the table and you help yourself to salad and vegetables. It was cheaper than going out for pizza. We all ate well. We ate a lot of steak.

Unfortunately the toilets were downstairs so I had problems getting down their with my unyielding legs.

The crotchfruits ate free with Kids Pass.

They ate all manner of weird concoctions but they were happy.
He needn’t have worried. I needn’t have worried. Nobody actually died…

The Kids Pass is on an introductory offer of £1 for the first thirty days. There’s no minimum subscription, so if you don’t use it, you can cancel it.

Have a look at them on their Facebook page.

We are live from the leisure centre

We are live from the leisure centre.
We were on time..ish.

I am terribly on edge about running the marathon tomorrow, so I have been shouting at Dangerous. That is this mornings excuse anyway.

We have worked out that the reason that Ted is so bad at swimming compared to his peers is because he has skipped a group. The near drowning incident a couple of weeks ago is because he’s not good enough to be in the big pool.

Yesterday we went to the cinema. We got bargain tickets.

I do love a bargain.

It has to be said that I’m very generous with some things and somewhat of a skinflint about other things.

My children would very obligingly tell you of my tight-fistedness in many situations, especially where car parking is concerned. I’d rather walk fifteen minutes than pay eight quid to park somewhere. I laugh in the face of the parking attendants in many a National Trust car park and then make my darlings walk an extra mile to get to the entrance. It’s not that I begrudge the National Trust. I don’t but I’d rather spend the money in the cafe.

Some things are just so expensive that it’s absurd. Nearly everything that is aimed at keeping parents sane and children entertained during the holidays is extortionately priced.

There have been an awful lot of visits to parks this Easter holiday until I finally put my hand in my pocket begrudgingly to pay to go to the cinema with the crotchfruits. I love going to the cinema with my darlings. Obviously I embarrassed them in the foyer by lying down next to the cardboard cut out of a lady with nice big boobies.

I laid on the floor and bellowed “Spot the difference!” The crotchfruits looked aghast and tried to hide. One of them is still cross with me.

The best bit about it all (apart from embarrassing the kids) is that I got forty percent off the tickets with this app called “Kids Pass”
I paid for two adults and four kids to get in and it only cost me £34.30!

£34.30 in the holidays! OMFG! It should have been over sixty quid.

I’m not allowed to actually swear on this post as it’s boosted and you can’t swear on a boosted post – I’d like you to know how exceptionally hard I have found this.

I was a bit dubious when I first looked at this app because there’s loads of deals on cinema tickets but they all have specific days. This one is forty percent off all the time. We are going to do Legoland next week as well. That’s forty percent off with the Kids Pass too.

There’s loads of deals on loads of attractions for nice people who are kind to their children and for people like me too.

Obviously the money that I saved will be spent on the finest quality gin and some new, very Fashion Forward attire.

By next Friday, you will find me slumped over an empty bottle of gin muttering swear words and talking about queues at Legoland.

The Kids Pass is on an introductory offer of £1 for the first thirty days. There’s no minimum subscription, so if you don’t use it, you can cancel it.

On Sunday I will be running the Manchester marathon

On Sunday I will be running the Manchester marathon. That’s not the 10k or the half marathon, that’s 26.2 miles of hell. That’s 26.2 miles of mindlessly putting one foot in front of the other. That’s four hours of chafing. Four hours of trainers that cost one hundred and fifty quid hitting against my toenails, so that as summer hits, three or four of the fuckers will fall off. If anybody looks closely at me, I’ll look like a leper that has tried to cover up bits that have fallen off with nail polish.

My armpits are already chafed so they will no doubt be fucked. That will be a new and surprising place to bleed from.

Last time I did a marathon, I bled from inner thigh chafing. It took about four months for the skin to grow back properly. Every time I thought that it had grown back, the top layer went crispy and fell off again.

And do you know what? I can’t wait! I can’t wait because at least I’ll get four hours plus traveling and drinking time off from the fucking Easter holidays.

Dangerous will get up on Sunday morning with a hangover, because it’s the Derby on Saturday and he will have the whole day to look after our beautiful but foul, grumpy and unable to spend an hour without twatting each other children.

He is absolutely fucked!

I will go out on Sunday morning at 6.45am (in full makeup). I will get the tram to Old Trafford and I’ll put my bag in the bag drop. I’ll queue up to go for a wee and a poo in some stinky portaloos and then I’ll set off.

When I set off, I will still be certain that I still need another wee and poo. I will wish that I am a man that can just do a slash at the side of the road and then I will get in a queue for a portaloo. I will get out of the queue and piss behind the portaloo because somehow, even though I know that I’ve been injured and I’ve got a virus, I have become convinced that I can get a personal best.

Whether or not I get a personal best, I will finish. I will finish because I am going out afterwards with my bitches.

I am going out and I am going to relinquish all of my Easter holiday parenting responsibilities to a very likely hungover arsehole who will benefit from the responsibility of three little shits. They will very probably have a fight or three at the side of the road as they are waiting for me to pass.

Don’t get any nice ideas about Dangerous. He will not take our three delightful crotchfruit anywhere to watch my marathon running prowess whilst he is sickeningly hungover. He is not so nice. The marathon actually goes past our house. All he has to do is take his possibly still drunk carcass to the kerb and stop our children’s fighting from spilling out onto the course and knocking some poor unsuspecting runner over.

He doesn’t quite understand yet but I am going to get fucking minging afterwards.

I am heading to media city for a post marathon drinking sesh. It will be reminiscent of the last days of the Romans.

So, if you are looking for a way out of parenting for a day during the Easter holidays, why not join me at the Manchester Marathon.

I’ll be with the Amazonian for about three minutes, with the prancing pony until about mile eighteen, when I will die and then I will probably be weeping as I pass through Carrimgton, Urmston and Flixton.

If you see me, give me a wave or a gin.

My name is Totes. I am a marathon runner. I am not that good but this will be my sixth.

Chin chin, up yer bum Mofos.

So the saying goes “if life gives you lemons, make gin and tonic”

So the saying goes “if life gives you lemons, make gin and tonic” or something like that anyway…It could have been lemon drizzle cake…Whatever…

I say if life gives you lemons, run after it and shout “I didn’t order this shit! You can fucking take it back. I’m not taking this shit sitting down!”

Then I grumble a lot and say “motherfucker” under my breath all day whilst my little shits say things like “are you ok mum” and I say “I keep telling you that I am not Mum. I am Mummy”

The Totes guide on How to survive Easter Sunday.

The Totes guide on How to survive Easter Sunday.

I know that I should have offered this advice earlier but I only just thought of it.

Sorry for being slack.

Easter Sunday…

A day that time forgot. Seriously, it’s like going back to the seventies. The lyrics to Morrissey’s “Every Day is Like Sunday” could be brought bang up to date for modern consumption for something like the XFactor by changing the lyrics to “Every Day is like Easter Sunday”.

Can you imagine “The Smiths” night on XFactor with Johnny Marr and Mozza as judges? There’d be mash ups of “There is a light that never goes out” and “Girlfriend in a Coma” complete with backing dancers doing literal interpretations of the lyrics. A ten tonne truck could drive onto the stage for the finale and knock backing dancers over.

Louis Walsh would have a boy band performing “This charming man”. All members of the band would be holding a gladioli whilst doing bizarre harmonies but sat on bar stools In a line. As it was a singers turn to sing, the young pretty boy could wave his stem in a come hither way whilst looking into camera. Louis would be holding his crotch.

Mozza would walk out when it became apparent that some of the lyrics had been changed to have a happier outcome.

Sharon would wear a T shirt that says “Meat is ethically ok if it was outdoor reared and humanely slaughtered”

There’s generations of people that have grown up thinking that Sunday isn’t that bad. Back in the Seventies and eighties, it was a day to sleep through. It’s hardly surprising that hundreds of thousands of kids spent Saturday nights off their tits in warehouses and clubs when the only thing that they had to look forward to on Sunday was falling asleep with their head in a Sunday lunch whilst their parents wondered where they went wrong or going to the pub when it was open from twelve until three. If you’d had a really good weekend, you could usually get to the pub before falling asleep until Tuesday.

1994 was when this all changed with “The Sunday Trading Act”. I’m not sure that I remember when shops first started opening on a Sunday as I was probably to busy embracing popular culture in the form of MDMA. This was obviously the governments fault as it took them so long to let anything open on a Sunday.

Now everything’s open on a Sunday,
Except Easter Sunday when nothing is open.

I always forget this.

Yesterday,I offered to take Bella shopping today but Nana said

“But the Trafford centre isn’t open. It’s Easter Sunday!” I replied “are you sure?”

She gave me a very strange look. Nana is catholic.

I am a godless heathen. Dangerous told me so this morning when I was telling him that Homebase would definitely be open and that I wanted to go and buy some plants for the Garden.
As we drove there in the car because I insisted that it would be open, he patiently explained that Easter is the holiest day of the year. When I looked perplexed, he warmed to his theme and started asking what the fuck religious upbringing had I had? As we drove past the deserted car park, I kept saying “Jesus, it’s not open! What the actual fuck! I’m sure that it was open last year” to which he replied “No, you tried to go to the garden centre last year to buy plants on Easter Sunday. The garden centre was closed too.”

I’d never considered that Easter is actually a really holy day. The closest that I’ve ever been to organised religion was when I was in the brownies and we had to go to church with them. I thought Christmas was the really holy one and that Easter was just about chocolate. Now I have been reliably informed by my smug husband that it’s about chocolate and the shops being shut because it’s the most religious day.

Instead of shopping for plants, we went for a very ill advised walk down the TransPennine trail. Dangerous chased after the dog every time he saw another dog and insisted that he be on a lead. A nice lady with a dog asked if Trevor wasn’t good with other dogs to which I replied “No, he’s fine, it’s just my husband never walks the dog and he panics when he sees another dog, or a car, or a bike, or a blade of grass!”

The little shits fought over a ball and moaned. This is actually an understatement. They kicked the living shit out of each other to the point where Dangerous and I actually started mocking them and laughing at them because they were so horrible. Oscar was actually arguing with himself at points, like a man at chucking out time who’s had nine pints of Stella.

Dangerous said that it was the furthest he’d ever walked in his life.

So how to overcome this very holy and important day…

Lock the kids in the playroom with their chocolate spoils and some tech.

Eat loads of chocolate, drink loads of booze and do some online shopping.

I suppose that we could play “Sunday Night Slut” later.

You do realise that the first choice will be between Morrissey and Marr!

Four stay in and make a video that goes viral.

Four stay in and make a video that goes viral.

Chapter one

Mummy was standing in the large clean kitchen gulping red wine and perusing Facebook whilst wondering where her Asos order was. Beside her, a stack of letters from school relating to school trips and Easter bonnet competitions lay crumpled and rejected. Her mouth was stained with the wine. Mummy was better after she’d had at least a bottle of red and her parcels had arrived for the day. Before this, she could be decidedly grumpy.

Bella started with the question of the day

“Has the DPD delivery guy been? Did everything fit you Mummy?

Mummy replied “No darling, thank you for asking. The miserable bastard is late again!”

“Mummy, Mummy can we go out on an epic adventure, please Mummy. We want to feel the wind on our cheeks as we explore the dog walking field and the canal towpath. We were thinking of making a campsite and camping on the Transpennine Trail just near the electricity pylon. We have heard that it’s strewn with dog shit and the canal is where the homeless guys hang out but we are cool with that. We thought that if we took a mobile phone, we’d be safe”

Mummy looked up absent mindedly and saw her three beautiful crotchfruit and the eager but unbelievably smelly puppy.

“But Darlings you can’t go out unsupervised. The suburban landscape is full of danger. There are paedophiles and gangs of marauding teenagers that might mug you. You might fall in the canal and drown as you refuse to learn to swim at swimming lessons”

The eldest child Bella gave her mother a contemptuous look and turned to face her in anger.

“But Mummy that’s simply ridiculous. All my friends are allowed to do as they please and besides, no paedophile will come near me as I’ve got so much makeup on that they’ll think that I’m a diminutive twenty five year old that gave birth to these two early. I will look after my bros Mummy, you can depend on me!”

Mummy looked at her darlings and concluded that it was very unlikely that anything would happen to them as they did indeed look like the two white members of the “So Solid Crew” and a young streetwise female mugger with too much makeup on.

“Look darlings, normally I would say yes to you going out and having some some fresh air but there’s been a letter from your school advising parents that there’s been some awful mugging incidents in the local area. Apparently two boys and a particularly evil girl have been stopping students on their way home and demanding their money. Then there’s Trevor. He is just not urban enough to survive out in the suburban badlands. He could get eaten by a Staffie or mistaken for an escaped piglet and taken to the local kebab shop. You look like absolute vicious thugs but harm might come to poor Trevor”

Bella winced. The boys looked at the floor.

“Oooooh Mummy, perhaps we shouldn’t go out then. I wouldn’t want to get mugged” said the sweet little darling ten year old girl in a sarcastic tone that her mother mistook for fear.

The boys looked at their sister as they made their way up to the top of the house to Bella’s bedroom.

The boys sat on her bed.

Bella gazed at her reflection with pride. She did indeed look quite special in her Adidas tracky bottoms and cropped top. She had caked enough makeup on so that it was impossible to guess her age despite her only being ten years old.

Bella was a gutsy young thing. That’s one way of putting it anyway. There were other ways. Her mother had a myriad of different terminology to describe her child. Bella loved gymnastics and she loved her dog Trevor fiercely. She tolerated her brothers but was slightly less keen on her parents as they were contemptible. They hadn’t got a clue what was going on in the real world. All they were interested in was the passing of entrance exams and that their children behaved.

Ted was the youngest and the most earnest of the siblings.

“Well that’s no more IPhones and Fitbits for us Bella!” He said to her as he fiddled with his baseball cap and she applied more makeup whilst looking in the filthy mirror.

Bella’s bedroom was special. Nobody could remember what colour the carpet was or indeed if thee was one. It had a look of abandonment and decay. Sweet wrappers littered the floor. Makeup and empty drink bottles lay abandoned.

As they sat on the bed, their mother shouted upstairs.

“Darlings, I’ve had a brilliant idea. Why don’t you write a script and you could pretend to be YouTubers. I have bought you a video camera!”

Trevor did a trump and the three children looked like they were going to be sick.

Ted was the best at dealing with their mother so he thanked her for the video camera and brought it back upstairs.

“Oh my, what is that piece of shit?”said Bella as they all looked at the box with the video camera in.

“Ooooooh we could video the Easter bunny” said Oscar the eight year old.

“Oscar – you dumbass, we’ve already got ninety three IPhones. We don’t need a video camera to Create YouTube content. You really aren’t very bright!… you are old enough to know that there’s no such thing as the Easter bunny”

They looked at one another and they looked at the video camera.

“What was she thinking?” Sighed Bella.

“Let’s give it a go!” Said Ted becoming animated.

“I’m bored of mugging people. We could all act like dicks and get paid millions of pounds. I’ve got a plan…we just need a YouTube channel. We will sing really bad songs whilst looking wistfully away from the camera like some of those American arseholes. We’ll be buying a Lamborghini in about a month!”
Said the very clever Ted.

“Oscar, can you rap really badly?

Oscar looked hopeful.

“Errr yeah – I’m really shit at rapping!”

And that was the start of it. That was the start of their unbelievably exciting adventure.

The godless heathens guide to Easter!

The godless heathens guide to Easter!

Starts tomorrow with Good Friday.

Tomorrow I will be answering all your questions on The Crucifixion and where’s best to get cheap Easter Eggs..

The burning questions of the day are obviously;

“Did gods son get visited by the Easter bunny?” “How did he eat his eggs with his hands nailed to a cross?”


“What the fuck to do if you’ve forgotten to get Easter eggs and they’ve run out in the shops?”

I did this last year…

On Saturday we will be having a good chat about what sort of booze to serve on Easter Sunday, along with the burning questions of the day “why the fuck are gymnastics and swimming lessons still on?”

On Sunday, I will be chatting about what time it’s ok to start drinking? Is Easter like Christmas in that you can start when you get up? And most important of all “what the fuck are we going to do with the next two weeks when Dangerous goes back to work?”

Why can’t I plan holidays? Why do I pretend that they aren’t happening and then have a nervous breakdown when they happen?

Has anybody else started on the eggs and is it wrong that the Easter bunny is bringing Toblerone And Maltesesers?

The little shits don’t even like Toblerone.

But back to today – one year until Brexit.

Brexit is so very obviously illegal now that we have heard that Cambridge Analytica supplied information so that the masses could be duped. Discuss…