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.

Thug Pug can run! I’m fucking ecstatic.

Thug Pug can run! I’m fucking ecstatic. He’s only ever been for a run with me once and he sat in the middle of a road to teach me a lesson. The lesson was “don’t fucking tell me what to do!”
This is a game changer!
He’s slow and he keeps stopping to sniff other dogs arses but he ran nearly four miles through Tatton Park.

Everybody laughed at us as he was panting so much and he kept jumping in the lake to cool off. When he jumped in the lake, he just laid down like and looked at me as if to say “it’s all on my terms. I will run but you will stop when I want to. You may think that you’re in charge but you aren’t!”

We could enter him into a Triathlon. Fuck knows how he’d cycle but we could get a basket for him. He’d look up at me…lovingly…

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!

 

Fuck me, the last few weeks outfits look like a rainbow!

Fuck me, the last few weeks outfits look like a rainbow! I don’t like to blend in to the background – that’s too boring!

I’m only forty five. I can wear safe, tasteful stuff when I’ve gown up…

That’ll be when I’m in the cheap nursing home because I’ve squandered all my money on clothes and gin.

It’s mainly high street stuff from the sales with a bit of Zara and Warehouse thrown in and tons of Rew.

Rew is a great little independent British label designed by Rachel Medicott. They make limited editions of coats, scarves, jumpsuits, tops and dresses. The really good thing about them is that they fit most people. They fit you regardless of if you’ve eaten a bit too much cake and drunk too much wine.

The other great thing is that you aren’t overly likely to bump into anyone wearing the same thing unless we have a Fashion Forward Bitch convention or you come to a party at Totes Towers.

Anybody can rock a scarf, especially me!

Keeping it in the family, Rachel’s daughter has a great accessories Website

I do have a discount code, if you wish to peruse the Rew website.

As a one off – 15% off for first time customers with FFB or if you’ve already bought from them you can use FFBJU10 for June.

www.rewclothing.co.uk

www.itwasfrom.com

Things that Mummy’s teach

Things that Mummy’s teach

Good manners
Nutrition
Values
The value of walking to school
Kindness
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.

I’m at a very low ebb

I’m at a very low ebb after a fraught drive to and from Huddersfield with two boys who were intent on kicking the living shit out of each other over the coloured car game.

I told them before the game commenced that the judges word was final and that they couldn’t change colour.

I tell you what though, I wouldn’t touch Adam with a barge pole.

Top Rew
Skirt Zara ages ago
Shoes Zara ages ago
Necklace – ItWasFrom

Tuesday morning drama…

Tuesday morning drama…

I have just put the “specialist dry clean only” 100% polyester sofa covers in the washing machine.

I am beside myself with the dread of what will come out. I’m guessing that my main problem is going to be that they come out looking more like the sofa covers for a Sylvanian family of rabbits.

The playroom that is now used for gaming had started to smell of sweaty little boys. I had tried Frebreeze, who am I kidding…there was a bottle of Frebreeze on the window sill that I sprayed at the sofa every time that I wandered in there and gagged.

The sofa had zip off covers and so I naturally assumed that they could be washed until I read the instructions that said “do not machine wash under any circumstances.

If you hear screaming coming from Timperley in about one hour, you know what’s happened…

Stay tuned for more domestic top tips on how to fuck up your house!

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!”

“NO, YOU NEED TO COLOUR THE SECOND SET OF FRACTIONS IN A DIFFERENT COLOUR OR YOU’LL HAVE COLOURED EVERYTHING IN GREEN, THAT WON’T WORK WILL IT?”

“JUST TAKE THE CONVERSE AND THE VANS AND WHAT ABOUT THE FUCKING BIRKENSTOCKS THAT I BOUGHT YOU TWO WEEKS AGO?, OH OKAY I’LL WASH THE SKANKY TRAINERS BUT THEY WONT DRY IN TIME!”

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.

“SHE GOT SHOT IN THE HEAD! AND THE BULLET CAME OUT AND SHE LIVED?”

“EPIC!”

“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