samhain

A while ago I mentioned in a post about my tarot cards, experiences and belief in the supernatural. I said I wasn't going to post about it, but a few people commented saying that they would like to read about it.
So as it's Halloween here's three stories about a spirit, a poltergeist and a message.

When I was about 20 I lived in a fairly old house. The place was falling apart really, but it belonged to a friend who didn't have the money to fix it up so he let my boyfriend and I live there for nothing. One night a bit of the ceiling above the landing collapsed and left a hole about a metre square right outside my bedroom door.
As a result it was always fucking freezing on the upstairs landing.

Another friend came to stay there for a while and brought a kitten with her. From the day she moved in, every night we would hear the kitten playing and meowing right outside our bedroom door and it always wanted to sleep under the hole in the ceiling.
I couldn't understand it, given that every cat I've ever had always wanted to sleep in the warmest part of the house, whereas this one seemed to like the coldest part of ours. A few times I tried bringing it into my bedroom but it would just sit by the door and cry until I let it out.

One night I was very upset about something and went downstairs for a while.
When I decided to go back up to bed, still crying, the kitten was sat at the top of the stairs on the left looking at something to it's right and as I passed it I felt something squeeze my hand.
Very gently, it felt comforting.
I remember standing there trying to figure out what had just happened, I was looking at my hand and as I did so all the hairs on my arm stood up and I felt something - like a very light touch - rub my arm.

I really wasn't scared - in fact I felt better.
At the time I was having driving lessons and my instructor was a member of a spiritualist church. A few days later I had a lesson booked but I'd forgotten about it so when he knocked the door I asked him to come in for a moment while I got ready, when I came back he was still stood by the door and was staring up the stairs.
He asked me if I knew my house had a spirit, and told me that there was a little girl stood at the top of the stairs with the kitten, but not to worry as she meant no harm.

I guess when we could hear the cat playing at night it was playing with her.
Soon after that Don who owned the house said we all had to leave as he was selling it on. Jodie moved out first, the day she left we could not find her kitten anywhere, and we never let it out as it was too young.
We never did find it.
I moved out a couple of weeks later, but in the nights before I did I sometimes heard what sounded like the kitten playing outside my room and once or twice I heard giggling.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The first children's home I worked in was in a building that had previously been an old peoples home. The upstairs was completely locked up apart from one room at the top of the stairs that was used for staff sleep-ins. The TV room was under the part that was never used but it was nothing unusual for us to hear someone walking about up there, and although we locked the kitchen at night there were times when in the morning pots would be out of the cupboards.
It wasn't the kids - there was no way they could get in these rooms once locked.
And often whoever was staying in the sleep-in room would hear knocking from the next room, which was empty and locked, some of the staff had refused to sleep in the room.

One night I stayed in this room, and when the knocking started I had said "you don't bother me so shut up" and just gone to sleep. In the morning when I woke up I got dressed and ready, gathered up my stuff (I was going off shift) and put everything apart from my house keys and the night keys (which I needed to lock the room behind me) away in my bag. I put the bag over my shoulder, left the room, locked the door, put both sets of keys in my jeans pocket and went downstairs. As I was going down I heard a bang from upstairs, so I turned round and said "fuck you" to whatever it was.

I went straight to the kitchen where the other staff member was, put my bag on the table and made a coffee. We were sat there chatting when the new days staff arrived. When I went to handover the keys I only had the house set in my pocket, no night keys. As my jeans were the only thing I was wearing with pockets I retraced my steps back, thinking they might've fallen out - but there was no sign. This was 7am on a Sunday and neither of the two kids we had in residence were there, both had gone on home visits for the week-end so there was only myself and my colleague in the building.

I was 100% sure I put them in my pocket, keeping keys safe is a habit in that job, but my colleague and I went through my bag, the only other place they really could be - no keys. I even 'shook' myself to see if I could hear them on me - nothing. We got the spare night set and went back up and looked in the sleep-in room - no keys. We went through everything but could not find them.
One of the women who had just come on shift had a few experiences of her own in that house, she asked me if anything had happened and I told her what I'd heard and said. . . she just gave me a knowing look and told me to go home, the keys would probably turn up eventually.

I went home, made a drink, turned the TV on and dozed off on the sofa.
When I woke up a couple of hours later I ran a bath, as I was taking my top off I heard a clinking sound and in the hood was the set of keys.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The last story is maybe not so spooky, but to me it means more.

My Mum had a sister called Iris who died from cancer. I love the song Iris, it's always been one of my favourites even before my Auntie died. I had played it for my Mum too.
I lost my Mum three years ago this December, the day she died from the minute I got to her hospital bed I had that song playing in my head.
From then whenever I listened to it - in fact for a while I couldn't - it made me think of her.

Weeks later when we cleared her house we found a little portable stereo, Mum liked to listen to the radio at night and had used it for that. I took it home, put it in the bottom of my wardrobe and forgot about it.
Months later I was in my house with my then boyfriend, his football team were playing and as the match wasn't on the TV he wanted to listen to it on the radio. I remembered the little stereo so went and got it for him.

When it was half time he went off to make a drink and I decided to have a play around with the radio. The ex had found it hard to tune in when he was looking for the sports channel, but I moved the dial and straight away hit a music channel.
Guess what song was playing. . . .

Coincidence ?
There are hundreds of radio channels and millions of songs.

So I don't think so.

Happy Samhain people :)

mixed messages

Once again we are approaching the one night of the year when it's perfectly acceptable for women to go out dressed as sluts wearing outfits that would normally be reserved for the bedroom or fetish clubs.
I don't see anything wrong with that, I've done it myself and I have to say going out in a red pvc nurses outfit got me a lot of indecent proposals attention. But it does seem that nowadays the fellas are the ones being creative with fancy dress, the girls just head for the nearest Ann Summers.
Halloween is fast becoming almost as big an event as Christmas and New Year.

The thing that bothers me about it is trick or treat.
I know it's been a long held tradition in the states, but it wasn't even heard of here when I was a child - we had pumpkins and witches hats but that was about it.
Bonfire night was a bigger deal.

Then, I guess, thanks to film and TV the paedophiles dream that is trick or treating caught on over here.

Think about it.

You spend 364 days of the year teaching your kids that they shouldn't talk to strangers or take sweets from them, and most certainly NEVER go into a strangers house.
Apart from the 31st October.
Then it's perfectly fine to knock on strangers doors and ASK for sweets.
In fact you're allowed to threaten them with a 'trick' if they don't have any.

Mixed message if ever I heard one.
Children only hear what they want as it is, so what are you going to do when your kid comes home on November 2nd and tells you he was offered sweets by an old man on the way home from school, when two days ago you let him go begging for them.

I know that most responsible parents will go with their kids on Halloween, or only allow them to knock the doors of the people they know in their neighbourhood, but how well do you really know your neighbours ?
Isn't it often the case that when someone is found out to be a murderer or a wife beater or a fucking nonce most people will say things like "we had no idea. . ."

Peadophiles don't hang a sign outside their door advertising the fact that kids should stay away, but I bet they hang out the bunting, pumpkins and trick or treaters welcome signs for Halloween.

What if someone said to your kid they had nothing today "but if you come back on your own tomorrow and don't tell your friends I'll have chocolate. . ."

And even if you don't let your children go trick or treating there will come a day when they are old enough to go and do it anyway. Although by then they might be a bit too old to appeal to the average pervert, but devious enough to scare the elderly into handing over cash with the threat of a trick.
Halloween can also be the teenage nieghbourhood terrorists idea of heaven.

The rest of the year most decent parents would die of shame if they thought their kids were blackmailing the neighbours into giving them sweets, but at Halloween it's acceptable behaviour ?

We send enough mixed messages to our kids as it is, we spend the first couple of years teaching them to walk and talk and the next 18 wishing they'd sit still and shut the fuck up.
But no real harm will come to them from that, whereas knocking on strangers doors and begging can be very dangerous.

Just ask the ones that dare to knock on my door.
Lets just say this isn't the first time I have voiced this opinion.

I know that a lot of people will say it's just a bit of fun, and I guess it is for the kids who come home safely and spaced out on a sugar rush.
Doesn't change my opinion though.

Scary flaps ??? Now there's a costume I REALLY don't want to see.

train face

I seem to have a habit of attracting weirdos and oddballs wherever I go.
If I wrote a post about my ex boyfriends that would be more then evident, but this is a blog about me not that bunch of psychos losers. I can be stood at a bus stop with ten normal people and one deranged idiot and I can guarantee the idiot will decide to start a conversation with me.

I think maybe they think I'm a kindred spirit.
Can't think why.

I need a train face. This is something that Son perfected years ago, a look you wear so that nobody sits next to you or tries to talk to you. The first time I saw it we were going to London for a days shopping in Camden and as we got closer to London the train started to fill up.
Son was sat opposite me wearing his train face.
By the time we got to Clapham there were people standing, but the seat next to him remained empty.

Tonight I get on the train home from work,  and as I sit down my phone rings. It's a mate and I know she probably wants a chat but I don't like talking where people can hear so I answer it and just say "I'm on the train but I'll be home in half an hour so I'll call you back".
As I said it between the seats in front I saw this. . .

The fella was quite young - he clearly hadn't combed his hair for a week, but I thought maybe he thought he recognised my voice and that was why he looked round.
He sat back round the right way and laughed. . . a bit too loud.
Then I saw this . . .

He kept pulling his hand back for a second then pointing again.
All the while laughing.

Then the guy sat in the seat in front of him started talking on the phone, obviously to his partner as he was saying how long he was going to be and calling the person he was chatting to darling. But idiot boy was joining in the conversation. I heard the guy on the phone say "shall we have a curry tonight", and idiot said "yes I want a chicken tikka massalla", he continued to mutter to himself for a bit even after the other fella had ended his call.

Then he looked like he was bending down to get something off the floor, but he didn't get up.
When I looked he had got under the seat in front of himself, and he was still there when I got off the train.

I'm only on the train for 15 - 20 minutes, but at least three times a week something happens that either irritates or amuses me. A while ago I had arranged to go to a friends for dinner after work and she was coming to meet me from the station, I called her while I was waiting for the train and told her what time I would be there.
When I sat down on the train there was a woman sat facing me and a younger guy came and sat next to me. Whilst it was en route the train stopped as there was a signal failure and the guard announced that there was going to be a 30 minute wait.

The woman opposite me rang someone and said she was going to be late, I got my phone out, went to call Alison and my battery died.
Fuck.
Didn't like the idea of Ali sat waiting for me with a one year old in her car, so I asked the woman if she would mind if I borrowed her phone to send a text message.

She looked at me like I'd asked to borrow her husband for the night, said "fucking cheek", got up and moved seats.
Fucking bitch.
Ok she didn't have to let me, but she could've just said no.
The fella sat next to me offered to let me use his, which I did, and we chatted until I got off the train. Nothing of any note, just moaning about the trains and the weather.
A couple of hours later I'm sat with Ali and her phone beeps for a text.

"Hi, was really nice talking to you on the train today, would you like to go for a drink".

He wasn't my type, but even if he had been I like a man with brains. Not someone who's not even clever enough to realise that I wouldn't of borrowed his phone to text my own . . . which he knew had a dead battery.
For all he knew I borrowed his phone to tell my 6ft cage fighter boyfriend I was going to be late.

I wish . . .

The other thing that really bothers me on trains is out of control screaming kids.
If you can't keep it under control don't take it on a fucking packed train and let it run up and down the aisles, apart from the nuisance to other passengers it's fucking dangerous.
You can't blame the kids, it's boring sitting on a train for any length of time, but at least take a comic or a couple of toys.

A couple of days ago there was a young girl with twin boys, about four or five, one was hitting the other who kept crying. All she was doing was shouting at them to stop . . . whilst playing with her mobile phone.
Fuck sake.

And then I heard her say their names. . .
Reggie and Ronnie.
I guess they were just living up to their namesakes.

bravo

Good grief they sell some shit on the late night shopping channels.
It's nearly as bad as Kleenezee.

Don't be thinking I make a habit of watching this crap.
I can't sleep, so I'm sat on the sofa with my laptop and Son has been swearing at Americans killing zombies on the Xbox.
Normally he waits until I've gone to bed, but tonight I made the hilarious discovery that he has taken to sitting on my gym ball when he does this.

He buggered off to bed half an hour ago and the TV was just on in the background. I wasn't taking any notice of it until I heard someone mention something called the Ahh Bra.
Apparently I should throw away my 'uncomfortable' underwired contraptions as the way they push the jamoonas together does not look good, and spend SIXTY POUNDS on one of these.

So what do you think ?

Do boobs look better in this . . .

Or this . . .

Should women go for comfort ?

Or grin and bear the 'pain and discomfort' to look like this . . .

They cater for every occasion, according to the advert this is the 'sexy black version' . . .

Really ?
If that's their idea of sexy I sure as hell wouldn't want to see the unsexy ones.

Bet they don't look like this.

I know which one I prefer.

They claim to have sold 500 million of these worldwide.
That'll be a lot of men suddenly wishing their ladies would keep their tops ON then. Although they reckon a great selling point is that these delightful undergarments are sized like clothes - no cup sizes - so if you know someone's top size "men can buy them for their girlfriends".

Don't all rush to the shops now guys.

If a fella bought me one of them I'd be asking him if he thought I was his granny.

And even when nobody is likely to see it I still want to be wearing a bra that makes the most of my top bollocks. Just for me, it makes me feel good if I think I look good.

Gotta go, Jerry Springers just about to start . . .
Oh the excitement. I might just have to stay up all night more often.
Which is more then my tits would be doing in an ahh bra. I think I'll stick with LaSenza.

And no, none of those pictures are me.

find a friend

One of things I like about the Internet is the way that what might be barriers in the real world when it comes to making friends are no longer there.

I'm not just talking about distance here, more about the limits of our social groups and surroundings and the places we go to actually be able to interact with different people. On the web there are no barriers, and the friends that I have made don't just come from all corners of the planet, but all walks of life and all ages.
And I do consider some of them to be real friends, even though we have never met. After all if someone asked you to describe what makes a good friend many of the attributes you would give them do not require them to be sat in the same room.

Sometimes it's actually easier to talk about the really important difficult stuff with a stranger, people who aren't directly involved in your life can sometimes be more objective about things.
The vast numbers of anonymous blogs about very personal subjects is testament to that.
But if someone knows the intimate details of your life, has discussed them with you and perhaps offered words of wisdom, or maybe shares similar experiences to the point where you feel some degree of empathy with each other are they really a stranger ?

If the dialogue, in whatever medium you are using, occurs over any length of time then surely there comes a point where that person is regarded as a friend.

There's a point to this, I want to tell you all a story.

Amongst the people that I have met online is a young (well a lot younger then me) woman, I'll call her Ria. We got chatting in a forum for a while before I read Ria's blog, but when I did there was something there about a personal tragedy that I related to.
Then life dealt her another really awful shitty blow. WAY below the belt.
And it was that, and the fact that it made me want to share some private stuff about me which I thought might be of some value in a difficult decision she needed to make, that prompted us to begin conversing privately away from the forum.

During this time we had the pleasure of Ria's ex boyfriends company in the forum for a while, since he came there and abused her for a bit when he found out about the latest piece of news.
A right cunt charmer if ever there was one.
Trust me when I say this - if she was my daughter I would've called the police because what he was saying was harassment. Actually scrap that, if Ria was my daughter I would've found the cunt and kicked his fucking head in. What I did do was contact the forum moderator and get him removed.

So a little time goes on and I get a comment on my blog FROM THE EX. Saying some very personal things about Ria, absolutely not his business to divulge. Fucker tried to make it sound as if he was doing this out of some misplaced concern, that he was worried about her, and as he 'knew' she and I were talking he was hoping I would help her.
WHAT THE FUCK ?
He even gave me her phone number.
I already had it - but he didn't know that. To him I was a stranger on the Internet, for all he knew I could've been a 60 year old pervert.
Around the same time Ria's best friend sent me an email, she wanted to let me know that Ria was ill, saying she had her phone as an explanation of how she got my address. I did find this a bit intrusive, but I figured she's young, worried about her best mate, and genuinely thought I would want to know - which of course I did, so I just thanked her.

I tell Ria about this. The issue for her then was how did her ex know all the stuff he was 'telling' me, and how did he know that we were friends. In the times that he had been in the forum there were lots of other people, nothing was exchanged there between Ria and I to suggest we chatted elsewhere.
Well guess what. He knew all this because her so called best friend was fucking him.
Nice.
Apparently they are 'in love'. . . like either of these two low lifes even know the meaning of the word. And she got my email by snooping on Ria's phone.

Even without all the crap Ria has had to deal with - and believe me at her age most people would just crumble under the weight - fucking your friends ex is still a betrayal of the worst kind. And it turned out that they were actually fucking each other when Ria and him were still together.
Why would you even want to ?
Especially when you, more then anyone else, know what a total cunt he was to her and what an utter loser he really is.

These two have continued to leave messages in my comment box here, and the slut of an ex friend has emailed me several times trying to convince me that Ria is messed up (I'd be surprised if she wasn't), and trying to turn me against her with yet more personal stuff.
Which I already know as like I say, she and I are friends.
I ignore it. I've no desire to enter into any dialogue with a fucked up slapper who clearly has no morals and no fucking idea of what constitutes a true friend.
It's really none of my business, but she made it so by mailing me.
And she really is the one who's fucked up.
In every sense of that expression.

What I've written here is a tiny bit of what has happened, but the worst is that this bitch altered the one long email conversation we had (after her pestering my inbox all night, I told her what I thought of her and her actions) so it reads as if I'm telling her that I don't want anything to do with her or Ria, then forwarded it to Ria.
I've seen it, Ria sent it on to me.
Actually I've kept all the various comments and emails both of them have left me, as it's getting annoying and another mate who's a legal advisor has suggested I could take action against them for harassment.

But just how sick do you have to be to not only do the dirty on your best friend in the worst way - the main result of which is that right when she needs you the most you're gone from her life - but to also try and ruin any other friendship she might have.

Even if it is just an online one.
As far as those two (the ex and the ex friend) go, I'd say good riddance to bad rubbish whatever their motivations are. Not that that's much comfort to Ria.

But when a real life friend whose known you all you life can sink to actions so low and disgusting perhaps online friendships are in fact a better kind.
Even those of us who 'hide' behind user names are probably being far more honest about who we really are underneath our online facades. There are lot of people out there who discuss things with strangers on the net that even their nearest and dearest have no clue about.

Strange to think that someone on the other side of the world might just know you better then the friends you see every day ?

It happens.

Part of my lottery winning fantasy involves hiring an entire resort somewhere hot and sunny and paying for all the various people I've met via the Internet to fly in and join me.

Whose coming ???

sorry. . .

I think I need to apologise to my non-British sheep.
It seems that none of you knew who the greasy greek was until I made a post about him yesterday, but then if I have to put up with his squashed hair lipped face all over my TV it's only fair that you should share my pain.
And at least now if he makes another attempt at international fame you are all forewarned.
To be honest I don't really have much to say, but I need to make another post just so I don't have to see his ugly mug every time I look at my blog.
Shot myself in the foot there didn't I.

So lets have a little light relief.

My computer is starting to run out of memory - again - so I've been going through some more pictures that I've saved on it - mostly stuff that I've collected off the web because it amused me, or for photo 'competitions' I've had with a mate on facebook.
Before it goes in the recycle bin I think I'll share some of them here.
These are from the "worst tattoo ever" competition, I have no idea who they belong too - most of the pictures I used at the time were lifted off of dating sites. Don't get me started on why the owners ever thought that these will appeal to the opposite sex, just trust me when I tell you that they are far from being the worst pictures I have seen on them.
And yes, I do have those other ones saved.
But you REALLY don't want to see them.

For the life of me I cannot understand what possessed people to pay money for these - maybe they didn't, but either way I think I'd be taking legal action.
I suppose you could show them to 14 year old boys to deter them from getting inked.
And I won the tattoo competition with the middle one.

My other favourite picture contest was the "animals doing things they shouldn't", in which my mate Steve and I tried to outdo each other with 'wrong' pics.
It was as a result of this that I got my first (of three. . can't think why) ban from facebook.
Enjoy. . . .

Steve won that contest though - he sent me the video of the chimp and the frog. Although I did find an article about a man who looked a bit like him and was caught fucking a goat.
If you really want to read it.

I love the Internet - you can find anything if you look hard enough.

Maybe not, but it's certainly full of useful advice.
Unlike a lot of politicians.

You can find the best fashion tips . . . .

Parenting advice. . . .

Gardening hints . . .

Unbefuckinglievable. Does anyone have a ladder I can borrow ?

Even the elderly are using it as platform to dish out pearls of wisdom. . . .

I don't think Grandad likes True Blood.

Right, I'm off to delete a few more.
This one is for a particular person, he knows who he is and they're watching you HP. The rest of you can just go ahhhhh. . . .

 Normal (ie swearing and complaining) service will no doubt be resumed soon.

fuck off peter andre

If you're asking yourself who the fuck is he . . .  well then you know how I feel.

He was a 'pop' star who had ten (s)hit singles at the end of the eighties, mostly based upon him showing his abs in the videos and trying to be black, when in fact he's actually of Greek origin.
Then sadly fortunately he faded into obscurity.

You are not black and those are not dreadlocks,

and getting punched in the face does not give you an afro nose, but I'm prepared to try.

That is until, in an effort to revive himself he appeared in "I'm a celebrity get me out of here" and met the self promoting tart glamour model Jordan aka Katie Price.
To be fair to KP she kind of won the public over and changed peoples perception of herself on the show, but her and PA began a relationship that ended up with them having two kids and getting married.
Then a very public divorce.

At which point the greasy loser Peter should of done the world a favour and faded back into the obscurity where he belongs.

But no.
He keeps making these fucking awful reality shows about his brilliant life (insert sarcasm) for ITV2. I've never watched any of them but I see them advertised EVERY FUCKING AD BREAK on all the ITV channels. I'm starting to think ITV2 should rename itself the Peter Andre channel as there seem to be so many.
No sooner does one finish then they are advertising the next.
And as far as I can tell they all follow the same formula.
Cameras follow him around all the fucking time.
With special emphasis on any and every time a fan (ITV2 employee) approaches him, he makes an appearance at the opening of some corner shop, performs in yet another charity concert (he's the real fucking charity case), has a day out with his kids, buys yet another sports car (penis extension) or goes to the toilet, just so we get that he's. . . you know. . .famous.

There's an expression about having too much of a good thing.
He's not even a good thing, and yet there is WAY too much of him on the TV.

KP has made a few reality shows, even before she met him. But people were interested in her car crash life, whereas most people had forgot who he was until he got with her. And apparently she is not happy with him because she decided that she no longer wanted to feature their children in her shows but he continues to use them to get public support in his. Even if you don't like her (I don't) she deserves some credit for her business acumen, her only asset is her huge fake tits herself, but through self promotion she is worth millions.
His only asset was her.

In the last few days I've also seen adverts for a couple of new chat/ interview shows coming on the TV soon and every one of them has guess who amongst their planned guests.
Yup.
Peter fucking Andre.

Get the fuck off my telly you greasy squeaky voiced cunt.

He's almost as annoying as the French.

Almost.

ch ch ch changes

I decided to do a bit of online research into my current phase of going through 'the change'. I quite like that expression, makes me wonder if I should keep an eye on my hands around the next full moon. . .

Think I might need a manicure and a haircut.

I was looking for some ideas for alternative therapies and I have since stocked up on a few bottles of evening primrose capsules - kind of apt as just the name of that makes me think of fragrant old ladies.
Although old ladies do generally smell of wee.

I can relate to psycho.

I also have some ginseng and multivitamins.

Apparently I should pretty soon be having extra vitality.
Not entirely sure quite what that means, but it might give me a bit more energy (is Ginseng like speed but for old people?).
I guess people will at least hear me coming as taking that many tablets I'm probably going to rattle as I walk.

I also found a list of other symptoms I could experience - fatigue, lethargy, irritability, hairiness, insomnia, itchy skin, forgetfulness, mood swings. . . sounds like I've been going through the menopause for at least 25 years.

That must be some sort of record.


It also appears that these hot flushes as I've been calling them are not flushes, the correct term is FLASHES.
I don't know about elsewhere in the world but in the UK if you're a flasher then you're a weird loser who goes around showing your genitals to strangers.
Well that's what they were called the last time I met one anyway.
So now I can be even more of a pervert and blame it on my age.

My inner child is a bitch.

Best get myself a dirty mack and a moon calendar.
". . . . sorry officer it's the change".

Earlier in the week I was forced to endure watched a couple of hours of kids TV with the granddaughter where I work, it seems I'm not the only thing that's changed.
What the fuck has happened to Scooby Doo ?
It's not how I remember it that's for sure, and surely it's about time Thelma and Daphne went through the menopause.

Of course there's a lot of programmes I remember from being a kid that have been revamped and improved, and it's quite funny to watch the old versions as an adult - you see things you missed as a child. Like how camp the original Batman was.
Best not think about Christian Bale in the rubber suit though. . . I feel a flash coming on.
And in the UK there was always Rainbow - a bit after my time as a kid but my younger sister used to watch it, now you just wonder how the hell they got away with it.

Zippy ? 

Teddy in a gimpsuit.

The thing that really annoyed me about the kids TV I watched with Lily was the fucking adverts. It's a constant bombardment of expensive ridiculous toys, all of which she of course informed me she wanted. In one break there was 'realistic' toy dog that cost SEVENTY FIVE POUNDS, and then right at the end of it they showed you the toy cat you could also have.
("oh I want one if those too")
This was followed by a bright doll type thing, of which you could pick from half a dozen and which were shown with various accessories. A rip off mere snip at £45, but "accessories not included".
("I want a pink one and a green one and the house")
Every advert break was the same, none of the toys shown were less then £40.

I feel for parents, it was similar when Son was little, but we didn't have cable and satellite channels devoted entirely to children so while there were adverts for toys it wasn't as intense. You might not want to spoil your children but it's got to be hard to even know what to get them for birthdays or Christmas when they are telling you they want so much.
It seems to me that the companies that make these things are relying on the emotional blackmail of parents wanting their kids to have the things they didn't in order to make a fat profit.

Barbie can kiss my arse.

Well until they get too old for toys, but then the fashion and make-up companies take over and mess with your kids self esteem and body image.

When my sister and I were young we used our imagination to play with our toys. Our Sindy dolls (UK version of Barbie) had houses, but we made them out of empty boxes. And I learnt to sew by making clothes for them.

Many years ago a friend of mine who was a struggling single parent of three wanted to get her eldest boy a He-Man castle for Christmas. He'd been saying how much he liked it every time he saw one advertised on the TV, and he already had the action figures.
I remember this so well because by the time she had the money to get it the shops had sold out and she was quite upset, but another friend of ours had managed to find one for her.

Who wants a large lump of snot

He was really happy when he opened it on the day, but after a while she noticed that he wasn't actually playing with it and asked him why. He said he couldn't, as he needed He-Mans enemies castle too (I don't remember his name, I'm old). Because on the advert that's how the kids were playing with it.

I know it's never going to happen but I think maybe TV companies should put an upper limit on the value of toys advertised on kids channels.
Like two quid.

Dream on Cowgirl. There's more chance of me changing into a werewolf on the next full moon.
Ok so that's not entirely impossible. . .

tick tock

I am feeling very big headed rather special at the moment as in the last week my blog has passed the two hundred followers point and reached twenty thousand page views.
I'm suitably impressed with myself.

To celebrate I made a cake.
Like I need an excuse to make a cake.

Help yourselves to a virual slice.

There is one thing that always puzzles me about the followers gadget though. Have you ever counted the number of people that actually show up on the list ?
There are always slightly less there then the actual number, I first noticed this when I had about 50 - the discrepancy then was just two, now it's about seven. It's not, as I first thought, anonymous followers - I checked that out - anonymous really does mean just that, and you don't see them anywhere.
They're the real stalkers of the blogging world.

Nor is it the people who follow via Reader or Feedburner, I have more followers in both and they do not appear in the gadget, only those who use 'friend connect' or the Navbar link show up.
So who are these people ? Where are these people ?
Are any of you reading this ? And if so can you tell me how you are not appearing in the gadget but showing in the numbers ?
I know it doesn't matter. . . .I don't lose sleep over it, I'm just curious.

And it might come in handy the next time I want to lurk around and stalk follow some fit young fella's blog.

What I am losing sleep over - or rather what is depriving me of sleep is fucking vile horrible night sweats, accompanied by my legs refusal to be comfortable no matter where I put them.
(Men - look away now, I am going to moan about 'womens things').
Yeah, I might think I'm still 25 but my body has decided to let me know that this is really not the case. Thanks mother nature, has anyone ever told you you're a fucking bitch.

I feel like someone's following me around with a flame thrower, and if I catch the cunt I'm going to knock him the fuck out then stick it up his arse. (Mood swings. . . what mood swings ?) There is no warning when one of these delightful flushes is going to happen, one minute I'm stood there joking with a fella in the queue in the shop about winning the lottery, then suddenly I'm bright red and sweating.

Wonder if he's ever had that effect on women before.

It's like a combination of a drug induced head rush and an orgasm.
Except it's not nice.
And you wouldn't want to be doing either in the queue in the shop or on the bus. Well I dunno, you might - but I have actually done one of those as well and I wouldn't recommend it.

I'm on fire.

If this starts to turn into a blog about getting older (who know's what other joyful things this current phase may do to my brain) perhaps one of the mysterious stalkers can hunt me down and knock some sense into me. Or give me a large dose of hormones.
Apparently that's the cure, and will turn me into an even tempered, well behaved model of sweetness and light. Seeing as I was never one of them anyway that might be a fucking miracle difficult.

That's quite enough about that subject.

As I may have bragged about mentioned once or twice I am going to India for a month in December.
Eight weeks and counting.
I have no intention of spending time on the Internet while I'm there, while I will check my emails from time to time I'm not going to be sat in an Internet cafe when I can be on the beach.

I won't mind sweating there, I can blame it on the weather.

So I am hoping that maybe a couple of you would like to guest post here in my absence. I already have two volunteers, so only looking for one or two more, would anyone else like to do it ?
A chance to show your stuff to all the other regular readers here.
Email me if you do, you can do that from my G+ profile.

I'm off, I need to buy a job lot of industrial size fans on ebay.
And I BETTER get a discount or there will be trouble.

This ought to do the trick. . . now I just need a really big man bag to carry 

them around.