Tuesday, 30 August 2011

on the up

Yesterdays post was a bit depressing, sorry about that.
But hey - my blob - my brain.
Sometimes reading this is like reading my mind. Be glad for the moodiness because it's also liable to get warped and confused at times and I don't think google translate is programmed to cope with that.

Enough of that anyway I'm done with the moping and feeling sorry for myself, thanks perspective, and I have just seen something on Facebook that had me laughing out loud and the grammar troll in me slightly irritated all at the same time.

Installed what exactly ? And where ?
A new kitchen perhaps.
Or maybe something's been installed in the week. If it's an extra day on the weekend I want one too.
It's IN STORE you fucking moron.

And none of the people who commented appeared to spot the mistake, so either they're all just as stupid or laughing at her too.
That's not very nice is it.

My tolerance for stupid people has never been very high, but it's this kind of ignorance that amuses me the most. And as long as I'm laughing I feel less inclined to punch them so everyone wins. I can tolerate the kind of people you can take the piss out of to their faces and they don't even realise you're doing it. And the ones that need jokes explained to them, then laugh even though you can see they still don't get it.
Highly amusing.
One of the joys of Facebook is the way it's sometimes even more apparent.
I'm pretty sure I mentioned this in a previous post but my favourite example was the guy who proudly stated as his favourite quote " Seas the day".

He's possibly still doing so, I wouldn't know - he deleted me.
Can't think why, I was only trying to help.

I have this friend who falls into this category - entertainingly thick - he is the nicest guy but what he has in heart and generosity only makes up for the lack of brains and common sense.
When the movie Borat first came out he and I were chatting and I asked him if he'd seen it, he had but said he didn't really think it was funny and hadn't watched it all the way through. I was a bit puzzled by that as me and him do have a similar sense of humour.
He said, with a look of disgust on his face, that he was surprised that I found it so funny.
"I don't like him, he's a bit racist and sexist at times, and you can see he means it too"

Yup, Pete thought Borat was a real person.

High Five.

When I explained it was a spoof his face looked like he'd just had a revelation.
I suppose he had.

Talking about Borat - and this will mean nothing if you haven't seen the film (you should) - reminds me of another story. I had leant the DVD out to my friend Shan but she hadn't gotten round to watching it. She has a brother who is away at University but sometimes spends the weekend with her.
So this particular night she had gone out and left her brother and a mate in her flat, they decided to watch the film and when a drunken Shan returned she walked in her front room just as the scene with Borat and his manager in the hotel room was on.
Apparently she opened the door, screamed, and left in a hurry. She thought she had walked in on her brother and his mate watching gay porn.

Bad enough getting your words mixed up but your bothers sexuality ?

A long time ago I got friendly with a woman who lived a few doors away from me. She was another person with a heart of gold and no brains. One day she was in my house when my then boyfriend and two of his friends were having a conversation about cars as one of them was trying to decide which make and model to buy. June decided to join in as she was taking driving lessons at the time.
"So when you get your licence what type of car are you thinking of getting June ?"
"A blue one"

One day I went to her house and she was hunting around her living room, I asked what she was looking for.
"I've lost the moke"
"The what ?"
"The moke"
"I don't know what you mean, what's a moke ? Tell me and I'll help you look"
She looked at me like I was stupid and said,
"The moke control for the telly".

Now she was truly thick.
She provided me with hours of entertainment and she didn't even know.
That status I saw today got me thinking about her, it was a long time ago but I'm sure I'll remember some of the other things she used to come out with later.

Yeah, I think I feel better now.

Back to the bitching I go.

Monday, 29 August 2011


It's been a bizarre week for my emotions.

As I was getting ready to return from my holiday my sister text me telling me that our Dad was in hospital. He is in his eighties and not in the best of health, not going to go into details but lets just say the journey home wasn't the best. I was upset to be leaving son and unsure what I was going to come home to.
I had got chatting to a couple in the airport departure lounge who then ended up sitting next to me on the plane. At that point I was just about holding it together. As it took off the man said to me "so what brought you to Barcelona then ? "
I don't think the sobbing wreck was quite the answer he was looking for.

Dad is better - well as better as he can be, and home.
He was allowed home on Friday so the first thing I did after work was to call him and he was out walking the dog, obviously feeling much better, he has also decided that he likes being in hospital " because they wait on you all the time ".

Yeah just don't be thinking your daughters are gonna do the same.

I have been giving some thought to asking him to move in here, his flat is on the first floor with no lift and he struggles with the stairs. He'll say no - he likes his independence, but if it gets to the point where he needs looking after it would be much easier for all of us if he was here.
He doesn't like my sofa - he gets sat on it then can't get up so if he did he would have to bring his 'special' arm chair (which would so not match my new modern room) and the dog, she's a Jack Russell.

I would be the Frasier Crane of Portsmouth.

Anyway I guess me and him will have that conversation soon. Should be interesting.

I have also been having some real mixed feelings this week.
On the one hand I am that much more comfortable with the idea of Son living so far away now that I have seen where he is for myself, and know that he is taking care of himself. I'm very happy about that. But at the same time I am SO aware of how far away he really is and can't stop feeling a bit sad and lost.

Anyone got some really big scissors I can borrow ?
I have an umbilical cord I really need to sever.

Then today, as often happens in my life I get a large dose of perspective chucked at me.
I was reminded, on Facebook of all places, that today is the one year anniversary of the death of one of my good friends sons.
If I want to see my boy I can get on a plane and do so and I can talk to him any time I want. My friend doesn't have that option.
Her son was a couple of years older then mine. His death was really a result of the lifestyle he had chosen. He was her middle son and from a young age he was always the rebel of the family, when he was 15 he lived with me and Son for a while as at that time he had decided that he no longer wanted to live at home.
Social services were saying that he had to go into care, because even though he had a loving, caring family home he was pretty much living on the streets, but he liked our house for some reason and between his Mum, Social Services and me we agreed that he could come and stay so for a while I fostered him.

For all his trouble making ways he was a real charmer, one of those kids that you couldn't help but like and although it wasn't the best of circumstance that resulted in his living with us, I am glad that I have some really good memories of him during that time.
There was car showroom at the bottom of my road that had been having some sort of promotional day and after they shut he had gone down there, that day I came home to a living room full of helium balloons and him and Son sat there talking to each other with helium voices.

I credit him with being one of two young people who my experiences of made me decide a couple of years later that I wanted to work with kids in trouble, I ended up spending six years working in children's homes.

The other was a girl I first met when I was braiding hair for a living who came to me to get hers done. She was 14 at the time, but came back again and again and also brought many of her friends to get their hair done too. We used to talk about the standard teenage angst she was going through, parents that she thought didn't understand her, boyfriends, all the things that bother youngsters, she used to joke that she didn't just come to get her hair done it was also a 6 hour counselling session.
Even though there was a huge age difference between us we became really good friends.
She grew up and when she was 19 went travelling. Whilst in Australia she wrote me a letter, thanking me for all the times I had advised her and telling me all about the places she had been. When she got back she came to see me, she was about to go to University and was aiming to become a teacher.

In 2004 she went to Thailand with friends and family for Christmas, on her return she was planning to go to Brazil and work with street children.
She never came back.
And I still have that letter.

Yeah, I miss my Son every day,
But I will see him soon.

For Holly and Chaz.
Every troubled child I worked with and helped is because of you.

Saturday, 27 August 2011

barcelona baby

What a city !

If you've never been then put it on your list.
It always sucks coming back from any holiday, even if coming home hadn't involved saying bye to Son I would've felt shit leaving. The place has everything . . . . and it's hot.

And while there is a bit of me that misses my boy every day I can totally see why he loves living there so much and I really hope he does stay, at least for a couple of years - if only so I can go back again and again for cheap holidays.
I loved everything I saw but there is so much more that I didn't have time for.

So I promised pictures, best let them tell the story then.

This was the first real view of Barcelona I saw.

This is Sagrada Familia.
Son lives about 10mins walk from this, so after he picked me up at the airport this is where we got out the taxi. The building was designed by the architect Gaudi. It was not finished before he died but work continues on it.
It as apparently the most visited tourist attraction in Barcelona.

All the windows are stained glass - but my camera didn't capture it.

We also visited Casa Battlo, another of Gaudis creations.This was a building that he was asked to redesign and made into apartments.

To me his work has an organic feel. They don't look as if they were built - more like they just grew.

The ceiling of the main lounge, it's like being inside a giant shell.
Dunno who the ugly bloke is though - can you just fuck off out of my picture you're spoiling the view.
You can have a dictaphone thing to walk around with if you want that tells you about the building, we didn't bother, but it looked as if everyone was talking on the phone.

One of the hallways in the top of the Casa Battlo

My impression of Barcelona is a city that has everything, but I was amazed at the architecture. Even in the city centre all the shops have apartments above them, each one is different but equally impressive. The contrast is quite bizarre at times - on the ground floor is a sports shop or a cafe but above it is a grand old building. I guess at one time some of them were huge houses.

My favourite part of the city was the Gothic Quarter.
There are endless little cobbled streets, most of the ground floors are little shops and tiny bars but they also all have apartments above them, which makes the streets feel narrower then they are, although every once in a while you come across an open square usually around a grander building or church. Much older in style, Barcelona has influences from many cultures, the city walls for instance are Roman, but to me the Gothic Quarter is what I imagined older Spain to be like. We spent a lot of time wandering around here at night.

This is where I would want to live if I was there.

There are these little lanes running in between the slightly wider ones with shops.

One of the old churches in the Gothic Quarter - clearly been repaired, but totally made to look how it did originally. Shame about the parking sign.

We also went for a very posh meal on a roof terrace of a huge old house in the Gothic quarter. 
My meal was saute potatoes in the most delicious sauce I have tasted, on the top was a fish steak which was coated in herbs and then had cheese melted on the top.

It was pretty expensive but well worth it. However I took a picture and when I looked at it later . . . 

 . . . . . .is it just me or does that look like I ate a frog ?

Roman drinking fountain. It still works, but I wasn't that thirsty.

Even the Metro is impressive . . . . 

This is the entrance to one of the Metro stations - check out the chandelier, some of them are more like art galleries then train stations, nothing like the London underground. And that woman looked at me like I was an idiot for taking a picture. Yeah well it's alright for her she probably sees it every day.

And the beggars are a bit more creative too. . . . 

How could we not give them a couple of Euros ?
Love the fact that the money goes in the dogs bowl. We even saw two different beggars - both women - with cats. But these guys win.

La Rambla is the well known night-time spot in Barcelona, there are street entertainers, market stalls and artists every night. We did go there a couple of times, but really on our way elsewhere - along with the entertainment comes people hassling you to buy stuff you really don't want and neither Son nor I have much patience for that.
The thing that struck me as odd is the number of Indian men trying to get you to buy cans of beer.
Why ? When there are shops all around that sell it cheaper. Apparently they have no other motive, I thought it might be like the Africans in Ibiza who appear to be selling sunglasses but are really selling drugs but Son says that is not the case. It's just beer, and crap beer at that.

At the bottom of La Rambla, which is adjacent to the waterfront is this . . .

That's Christopher Columbus on top - pointing out to sea.
(I think he's showing the beer selling Indians the way home).

And finally, one of the highlights of the week for me was this fella.

I love Lizards. And thanks to Barcelona Zoo I got this close to a Kimodo.
With a pane of glass between us.

I took about 300 photos altogether. Obviously not going to post them all here - my picassa would probably explode.
If you really want to see more then you can. Don't worry it's not all of them, just a selection, I don't expect you want to see five different views of the same tree.
Sagrada Familia and Casa Battlo.
Random stuff.
Barcelona Zoo.
They are on Skydrive so full size images, you should be able to comment if you want.
(links to albums have been deactivated, if anyone wants to see these pics just ask in the comments)

I hope you liked the guest post, and went and checked out Drones hilarious sarcastic blog, there was supposed to be two but the other person didn't get his finished on time.

Looks like you lot have all been busy too - just checked my post feed and it looks like I have about a months worth of catch-up reading to do.

I love it - another excuse to put off doing the after holiday washing.

Wednesday, 17 August 2011

cowgirl presents...#2

Greetings people of Earth! If you don't know by now, Dirty Cowgirl is absent this week. Wait! don't click away just yet. A few fellow bloggers (me) have been granted the opportunity to dance in front of your eyes. I'm smart enough to know that you don't want to hear me, a DCG minion drone on too long about anything. As such, in an attempt to appeal to this brilliant, charming AND attractive audience I have composed a familiar tale on the origin of Dirty Cowgirl. If you enjoy it you might want to come on over and check out my blog for something to keep you busy until she returns.  Now, let us get on to today's entertainment. 

The Story of Dirty Cowgirl

Beneath a hollow empty,
through a decrepit hole,
beyond a glimpse of lighted land
is where it all unfurled.
Further than a memory
whence even soot and 
ash had curled,
a single note squawked weak
and muffled from a distant

That note it hummed with
inspiration once frozen
in the rock, 
and formed itself a body,
composed of sand and snot.
That body it did harmonize
with fury and intent,
it paced through cavern valleys
and climbed up through descent.
When that form at last met sunshine
it flailed upon the earth,
and drew a breath of freedom,
a dirty cowgirl's birth.

This girl she grew through
infancy and harnessed all
her rage, 
she delicately planned a 
course for when she came
of age.
she carried many weapons,
most were wary of her whip
but fools they found out quick to
fear the cracking of her lip.

a wall of sound
a shriek profane, 
enveloped every utterance,
her aural assault 
laid bodies out 
and put them in an ambulance.

her loves?
and shoes
and booze
and psychedelic drugs
her fear?
from the sky
by hostile
alien slugs.

she's a theif
not a liar,
a convenient crier
whenever it suits her 
to escape Scott free
with a box of choclates
from a Woolworth's STD.

sucking on a lemon 
truly makes her feel alive,
stuck in suspended animation
she's forever 25.

Thanks for reading everybody, here's hoping for a quick and safe return of Dirty Cowgirl.

Monday, 15 August 2011

you're gonna miss me while i'm gone

Right you lot, I'm off on holiday for a week.
Actually I'm going to see Son (and hopefully sun), so it might not be that much of a holiday for me. He's probably hoping I'll help him tidy his room, cook dinner every night, then lend him some money so he can meet his mates in the pub.
Yeah right.

How will you cope without me ?

I'll tell you how. I've organised a couple of treats for you . . . .
As to what they are, well you'll just have to wait and see.
I'm sure you're gonna love them.

But you see what a good Bo Peep I really am, while I was busy thinking about sun tan lotion, plane tickets and how the fuck I'm going to de-fuzz my legs (anyone want to lend me a strimmer) that haven't been waxed since the last time I got lucky which was . . . well. . .  a while ago, I was also thinking about you my lovely flock.

Keep and eye out and I'll see you all when I get back.
Yes there will be pictures and no they will not be of me in a bikini.

This is where I'll be . . . 

For the duration of my holiday I am turning comment moderation off, so if the pervert whose remarks I have spared you the pleasure of decides to leave me another message about my tits please ignore him.
I suspect he's really a 40 year old virgin sat in skiddy pants in his mommys basement and not the stud he seems to want me to think he is.

Thanks for all your comments, following, reading, and the pleasure I get (no, mr pervert not that kind of pleasure) from reading your blogs too :)
I love you all, even if I call you sheep.
Baaaaah xxx

Sunday, 14 August 2011

peace ?

The English uprising appears to be over - for now.

Although it might be a good time to check ebay for plasma TVs and trainers.

We now have news bulletins full of politicians and social commenters giving their views as to what went wrong and what can be done. If you read my last post then you know my opinions on some of the root causes. A friend of mine who is a psychologist actually wrote a really interesting piece about mob mentality and the mindset behind that.

Not that it was ever really any kind of uprising, or even really a riot. It began as a protest over a shooting and escalated into mindless vandalism and a spot of late night shopping.

Uprisings require organising and that takes more brains then most of those involved could ever dream of having, although on several news reports shown of looting youths there were older men directing the youngsters on the rampage.
Telling them which shop windows to put bricks through that is.

I'm inclined to agree with the idea that once it got started there was co-ordination involved. How did it kick off in several big cities all over the country at about the same time on the Sunday night ?
There is talk in the media of blame on social networking for that, but we've had organised protests in this country before we had so much technology - remember the good old fashioned phone. And how the 'word' was spread is not the real issue here, more concerning is where that came from and the mindset of those who decided to act upon it.
It was announced on the news that all police leave was cancelled and that they were being brought into London from elsewhere in the country, I reckon elsewhere in the country decided to take advantage of that situation.

Wish I'd thought of that, I'm off on holiday next week I could do with some new summer clothes.

My fear about all this was that it would be used by the racist scum to add fuel to their pathetic arguments. Even though in every film of what happened that I've seen there were just as many white as black kids involved, probably more white kids in fact and the older men directing them were white, a lot of the media and public focus seemed to fall on the black kids.
And as always happens there have been the usual bout of text jokes doing the rounds and most of them play to the racist tone.

I'm not saying they didn't make me laugh. But I felt suitably ashamed of myself afterwards.

I did see an item on the news about the EDL (big bunch of nazi racists claiming to be patriots) saying they were going to step in and sort out the riots. These losers have done nothing but stir up hate towards moslems and wherever they go the police tend to follow because just their presence is enough to cause problems. No doubt they thought this was their chance to show the public that they are the good guys.
Yeah right.
I wouldn't be surprised if they had something to do with stirring the situation up in the first place.

And as for those that started this chain of events after one young man was shot and killed, they have gained nothing. The death of their friend would probably have remained high on the news agenda, except that now it has been swamped by stories about the riots, court appearances by those involved and political opinions. Questions have been asked in parliament about police funding cuts, nobody is questioning the fact that they shot and killed someone.
If and when the name of that young man gets mentioned in the future it will always be synonymous with the riots. Is that a fitting eulogy for anyone ?

The worst story from all this is of two brothers and a friend who were run down by a speeding car. All three are dead, apparently they and a few other friends were trying to protect their area from looters and from what I can gather it's believed that the car that hit them was being driven by youths that they had earlier chased away.
There was CCTV footage of what preceded and the driver has been arrested.

How appalling that three more young men died as a direct result of what began as a protest about the death of another.
Where is the justice in that.

The father of the two brothers has been on TV appealing for calm and asking that there are no retribution attacks for what happened to his sons and their friend, this was a situation that had potential to escalate into something far worse then looting a few shops. This man, despite the pain and grief he is going through, appears to be becoming the voice of reason for all that has happened and in his own quiet way something of a spokesman for peace.
This man is a Moslem.

I hope that those who have spent the last few years trying to tell the world that Islam is full of terrorists who want nothing but war are watching.

Anyway it appears we don't need suicide bombers to destroy our cities.
Just send in the chavs.

Getting back to the jokes that have been doing the rounds...

One of my friends tried to tell me a joke about looters and water cannons, she began it by saying "Cameron has agreed the police can use water pistols . . . "
I didn't hear the rest of the joke because I was too busy laughing at the picture in my head of police with these. . . . .

Yup ! That'll scare them off.

Thursday, 11 August 2011

dear dave

Dear fuckwit that's supposed to be running this country David Cameron,

I really didn't want to have to say I told you so. . . .
But I fucking TOLD YOU SO.

THIS is what happens when you force young people to live in sink estates.

THIS is what happens when people have to live in near poverty.

THIS is what happens when you don't invest in schools and education.

THIS is what happens when young people have no decent affordable leisure activities

THIS is what happens when you cut back on youth services and advice/ guidance centres.

THIS is what happens when young people have no aspirations.

THIS is what happens when young people have no jobs.

THIS is what happens when young people have no future.

THIS is what happens when teenagers have babies and kids are raised by kids.

The events of the last few days have left most of Britain in a state of shock.
The initial protest occurred after a young man was shot and killed by police, given that our police are not normally armed this person must've done something to cause alarm. It is known that he had a gun, and I guess he must've either used it to commit a crime - there is speculation that he was a drug dealer, or at the very least brandished it in some way.
Until we have the results of the enquiry into that I'm not really willing to say much, - except that it is a sad reflection of the way our society is going when young people are walking around carrying guns.

And what happened to him is probably the best example of a reason why not to have one.
You have a gun, your mate has a gun, your rival has a gun, your enemy has a gun. So his friends, rivals and enemies will get a gun too.
Sooner or later everyone will want to gun to defend themselves from the criminals with guns.
The police will fight fire with fire.
Someone is going to get shot.

The mob mentality of the events that followed has very little to do with that young man's death and everything to do with the dis-affected youth of this country. The few I have seen interviewed on the TV and asked why they were causing mayhem had no real answer to give. Only one mentioned the lad that was killed. And in most of the footage I've seen they looked like they were enjoying themselves.
I know that's bad.
But how shit, sad and boring does your life have to be if that's the most exciting that happens. And what does that say about the way you were raised and your intelligence and state of mind.

Our police were stretched to the limit trying to deal with what happened, and I have heard talk on news bulletins about ending the cuts to police budgets.

But Dave, maybe you should stop cutting back on investments in young peoples services, education, training programmes, grants that help with cost of further education and instead make some serious investments in our children and their futures.
Because if you did that then they might just grow up to be decent human beings with jobs and money in their pockets and no desire to cause civil unrest.

And then you wouldn't need to be worrying about policing street riots and looting.

You know I'm right.
I always am.

Yours sincerely.

Saturday, 6 August 2011

another milestone

As this is my hundredth post I have decided to make it a worthwhile one.

Save our forests and you're saving more then just trees.

Actually let me rephrase that, seeing as everything I have to say is worthy, important, enlightening kind of interesting and will possibly change your life for the better.

This post is for a worthy cause, and it's gonna help to change the world. Well ok, that's an exaggeration but it is going to do something. And that is better then doing nothing.
And you lot get to look at pictures of cute animals.

Dear Readers,
My blob is going Carbon Neutral.
Yes, you heard that right.
Once I have submitted this post to the relevant site a tree will be planted in it's honour thereby making me a saint giving me big fat brownie points towards my carbon footprint on the planet.

Without trees there are no tree stumps and this cute panda 
would have nowhere to sleep.
Without sleep he might be in a bad mood and an angry 
panda is not so cute.
Plus he's going to be hungry - given the bamboo situation.
Won't be the trees in danger will it ?

Makes sense to me.
Another way to give something back and who knows maybe even help these.

Our closest relatives.
Not helping them is like letting your gran become homeless, and you can't put a gorilla in an old folks home. They need forests.
And I doubt they know how to play bingo.

What would happen to tree frogs if there were no trees ?
That's the worse case of red-eye I've ever seen, he's obviously been crying because his home is being destroyed.
Either that or he's been smoking some serious bud.

If the ice-caps melt where will polar bears live ?
I'd give him a home but the cats won't like it, and I think he'd be too hot - I like to have the heating on high in the winter.
And I believe they like water , my bath isn't that big.
Although he'd look like a fabulous rug if he slept on the lounge floor.

Without a forest where will they hunt ?
You wouldn't want to be responsible for these cute tiger cubs going without their dinner would you ?
One day they'll be big hungry tigers and they might not forget.

If you want to do your bit too, and make your blog environmentally sound then click here for the instructions.
All you have to do is write a post about it, which means you too can post some pictures of cute baby animals and everyone loves them.

This parrot will swear at you if you don't.
And I've taught him all the foul language I know.

Go on, you know you want to.
The cute baby animals will cry if you don't.

And you get to display a rather fabulous button on your blog so everyone knows what a caring selfless individual you are.

Here's a thought - trees are used to make paper and cardboard. If there are no more trees then where would homeless people live ?

Five star accommodation when you have no house.

And what are you going to wipe your arse with . . . . .

Best get planting.

Actually the tree planting programme is replacing trees destroyed by fire in the the Plumas National Forest in California at the moment, take a look the website if you like, it explains how it works. They have plans to continue the scheme elsewhere when the replanting there is finished.
I think it's a great idea.
If you do too then go and join. You also get your name and a link to your blog posted on the site :)

Friday, 5 August 2011

the only time i ever got caught

After writing my last post about my bad habit special talent a friend asked me if I've ever gotten caught.

Yeah, just once.
And it wasn't even for anything that good.

I think I was about 18 at the time, I had been round one friends and gotten very very stoned and was then on my way to visit another friend which involved walking through the town centre.
Whilst being under attack from the raving munchies.

I decided to go into Woolworths and get myself something to eat.

A great British Institution. Sadly no longer in business. And that has nothing to do with me.

One of the golden rules of shoplifting was NEVER steal from Woolies. This was before every shop had CCTV, security tags, and electronic alarms on the doors (yeah, I'm that old) but it was well known that they always had store detectives. We called them Stordys for short, STDs for even shorter, because if you got caught by one it meant you were fucked.
And if they caught you in Woolies they would always prosecute so not worth the risk.
However this being not long before christmas as I walked into the shop I, and my munchies, were confronted by a huge display of those extra large boxes of chocolates that you see at that time of year. I don't remember how much they were, but it was a lot more then the cheese roll and packet of crisps I had intended to get so I decided to help myself by tucking one inside my coat.

I walked out of the shop and as I got out the door felt a hand on my shoulder.

Then two stordys marched me back into the shop and out the back to the managers office.
Shitting myself.

Think quick Cowgirl.

I have another talent. I can make myself cry.
And being stoned I already had red-eye.
Drama was one of the few subjects at school that I was any good at, and I had long since perfected the art of bare faced lying. I needed to, by this point I had left home but when you are a rebellious teenager of a very straight laced Mother you learn to lie pretty damn quick.

So I'm sat in the shop managers office with the stordys and the manager comes in.
I make myself start crying. Loudly.
The other thing is I have never looked my age. Great when you're 40 and everyone thinks you're 30 but when you're 18 and you look 14 not so good.
Until that day.
"So what have you got to say young lady ?"
"I just *sniff* wanted to get a present *SNIFF* for my Mum. She's brought up me *sob* and my four brothers (I have one sister) all on her *sob* own since my Dad left us *SOB*, she spends all her money *howl* on us and works so *HOWL* hard and I just wanted to get her something because * HOOOOOWWL* I just love her so much. And now *CRYING REALLY HARD* she's going to be so ashamed of me...."
"What's your name and how old are you ?"
"*Fake name *, I'm 14"

I'm much better at it then her. And I didn't need to wear glasses then.

He told me to go and wait outside his office with one of the stordys. I was still crying but I was running out of steam by this point.
I thought the manager was probably calling the police and I was actually wondering how far I'd get if I did a runner. The shop was pretty packed but the office was out the back, so I spent the time working out what my new date of birth was going to be and which friend I could call if I needed bail, obviously it needed to be one who could pass for my Mum, as I was now 14, and obviously I didn't want to offend anyone by admitting they looked old enough to be her.
I was also pretty fucking pissed off with myself too. By this point I was shoplifting on a regular basis and here I was, stoned and about to get arrested for a box of fucking chocolates.
And I had a bag of weed in my pocket.

After maybe 10 minutes - that felt like an hour - he called me back in.

And informed me that given the circumstances he was letting me go !
Not because he felt sorry for me, but because my Mum clearly had enough to deal with, and although I had done a stupid thing he understood the reasons why. He lectured me ( still managing the odd sniff but trying not to smile ) for about 20 minutes about how lucky I was and all the stress I could've cause my poor long suffering mother then said he hoped that I had learnt my lesson.
Yeah I had.
I never nicked anything from Woolies ever again.

As I went to leave he called me back.
"I don't know where you're going to say you got them from, but give these to your Mum, I think she deserves them too"
And gave me the chocolates.

It was a bigger box then this. And I ate them all.
Guilty chocolate tastes so much better.

I should've been an actress.

Tuesday, 2 August 2011

guilty pleasures

I still remember the first time I ever stole something.

It was when I was in infant school, so I was probably about seven or eight. We had a box of scrap materials in the classroom and one of the other kids brought in some stuff to donate that included a piece of sparkly green glittery fabric. I remember Miss Green, the teacher, making a fuss about this fabric to the kid who brought it in and telling her that she should use it on the big fish mural the whole class was making at the time.
I really can recall the day that clearly.
I have always sewn, my Mum was a seamstress so I guess I got the talent from her and even at that age I used to copy pictures of clothes and make them for my dolls, Cindy being my favourite.
And Cindy needed a green glittery dress.
So when nobody was looking I took the fabric, scrunched it up, asked to go to the toilet but went to the cloakroom instead and put it in my coat pocket.

Cindy needed a top like this.

Later in the day it was time to do some art and it was discovered that the material was missing.
There was the usual routine of  'if whoever has taken it puts it back nothing will happen', and I can remember trying to hide my face as I was blushing . . . badly. But I didn't return the sparkly stuff. And I never did make anything from it either, it remained hidden in my room, because once I got it home I realised that if I had my Mum would've asked where it came from.
And at that age I couldn't lie to her.

As it happens all my teenage guilty secrets revolved around deceiving the parents too.
When I was about 13 my parents had a lot of those miniature bottles of spirits.

There were more then this. Way more.
But most of them were empty.

They were kept in a cupboard in the front room - so I was helping myself, and my friends, on a regular basis then putting the empty bottles back. The parents only ever drank if they had visitors which wasn’t that often, but there came a night when I was upstairs and I heard them offering drinks to friends of my Dad who had turned up. I heard Dad go into the room where these were kept - then call Mum - then what sounded like angry whispers.
I'm sat upstairs waiting for WW3 to break out and a year long grounding.
It never came, for days I was on walking eggshells but nothing was ever said.

Move on about 3 years - the parents have split.
One night Mum and I are having chat about things and she says "I'll tell you something you don't know about your Father, he was a secret drinker - he used to drink those miniatures we kept"
A few weeks later I'm round Dads, also having a chat and he says "did you know your mother was a secret drinker............."
I've never confessed.

The kleptomaniac in me still comes out to play from time to time. Nowadays if I want something I can usually afford it but sometimes I just can't resist. Way I see it if I'm spending £100 at the supermarket it doesn't hurt them to give me a jar of coffee as a bonus, although the biggest thing I've ever stolen was a shelf unit that is still in my living room now. I think it's just one little symptom of never quite growing up, although the roots of the habit come from childhood and always being told that I couldn't have stuff.
So I helped myself instead.
It was an easy progression from that scrap of fabric to a bar of chocolate on the way home from school, then as I got older make-up, records and clothes. I'd never steal from a person - do as you would be done by on that count - but if I can get a little five finger discount from a shop I fucking well will.
Never let your bad habits talents go to waste.

My other two guilty pleasures that stem from childhood are biscuit gluttony and the Starship Enterprise.

My Mum would buy biscuits but we were only ever allowed to have two or three at a time, nowadays I can quite happily eat a whole packet - especially if I have a coffee to dunk them in, and very especially if they are McVitie's chocolate digestives.

Fuck the calories.

And whilst it's not exactly something I feel guilty about I am a bit of a trekky.
On wednesday nights my Mum would go out to some ladies group and my Dad and I would always watch Star Trek together. I love the newer films with all their amazing CGI but the original series will always be the best in my world because it reminds me of those evenings.
I even have the outfit. Having a fancy dress ? No prizes for guessing who I'm coming as.
I still watch it whenever it's on the TV now.

Same goes for the original Batman.

Although Christian Bale in the rubber suit is a whole different kind of pleasure for me nowadays.
And I don't feel the least bit guilty about my Batman fantasies.

Come to mumma. I so would. And then I'd do it again.

Adult guilty pleasures are a whole different thing.
I love porn, always surprises me how many women claim they don't like it or say it's disgusting. Yeah right. More like too uptight to admit it turns them on. Or worse are the ones who think there is something wrong with him because the man in their life likes to watch it.
You might not like golf or football but you don't threaten to leave if he watches it do you.
Watch and learn I reckon.
Porn that is, not football.

But I bet you never thought you could combine your childhood and grown up GPs without getting into all kinds of stuff that's truly wrong ?
Think again.
I found Star Trek - the Porn Version.
Fucking hilarious.

Yup. Those are her pants on his ears. Go Spock.

Funniest thing I've seen in ages. Too busy laughing for anything else.
I could post the link here, but then I'd have to put the adult warning back on, and then the stat counter doesn't work and I need to keep an eye on the lurkers.

If you want it ask me.

Update : After reading this I was asked if I'd ever gotten caught, so I wrote a response. http://dirtycowgirl.blogspot.com/2011/08/only-time-i-ever-got-caught.html