plain speaking

There's a lot of things about getting older maturing that I don't really appreciate but I find I can live with.

Even the mentalpause has been bothering me less since I got back from India. Well either that or I just chilled out so much that my anger issues are being kept at bay.
In which case who knows what will happen when that particular bubble bursts.
But there are ways and means to avoid the other signs of my impending pensioner status. Grey hairs can be dyed ( or waxed - don't ask. You get them everywhere). Diet and exercise can keep aches and pains at bay (or so I'm told) and wrinkles can be filled with botox. Not that I have any. . . yet.
Wrinkles that is, not botox.

And I accept that there may be some things I will be stuck with.
But the one thing I fucking hate is the deterioration of my eyesight. I asked an optician (who was about 25, thin and beautiful - fucking bitch) about having laser treatment and was informed that there was no point since the problem is caused by age. If I had it done I would need glasses again in a couple of years as they will continue to get worse.

Just. Great. Make me feel good about myself why don't you.

I don't actually mind wearing glasses as such.
Men seem to find them sexy for some reason.
I've had sordid fuck fests romances with two men who liked me to keep them on ALL the time. One actually found them more of a turn on then any sleazy get up classy outfit I wore.
What really pisses me off about glasses is having to continually take them on and off. Since I am long sighted I only need them for reading and watching TV so when I'm out and about they are in my bag, and it's a fucking pain getting them out to get a bus ticket or look at prices in the shop, taking them off to walk to the till (if I don't everything looks wonky), then on again to use my card.
In a two hour shopping trip they are on and off more frequently then a strippers pants.

Sometimes I just can't be arsed to get them out of my bag.
Especially as my bag is more like a small suitcase that contains a black hole into which any item I want to retrieve from it will disappear.
Which is why yesterday after Son had text me saying we needed toilet roll I went to the shop and came home with these. . .

It's an easy mistake to make.
They do look similar, especially when you can't see properly.

And I am easily confused.
Sometimes I think the English language is very confusing, I've been helping my friends four year old with her reading and there are some things about it that you just can't explain. How do you make a child whose learning phonetically understand that 'the' is not pronounced te-he-eh ?
Especially when the child asks 'why' about everyfuckingthing.
And why does the announcement on the train as it approaches the stop always have to say "please mind the gap when ALIGHTING from the train".

What's wrong with saying leaving, getting off or even departing ?
I hear that announcement every day and I imagine this,

I'm worried that one day I will spontaneously combust when I step onto the platform.
I have enough trouble getting to work on time.

And here's another thing I don't really get, why do so many restaurants now advertise themselves as having a salad bar. What fucking twat thought up that expression.
There's two words that should not be said in the same sentence, ever. I hear the word bar and I expect to see alcohol not tomatoes, lettuce and cold pasta.

Unless of course they're serving cocktails with fruit in, then it makes sense.

A friend of mine, Tina, is always getting her words confused, but the things she says are hilarious. Her favourite film ever is Blade Runner and one day she was round mine and we saw an advertisment for the directors cut coming on the TV at the weekend. She was annoyed because she had to go out and was going to miss it as her recorder was broken, I told her to remind me and I would record it for her.
Saturday afternoon she rings me,
"please don't forget Road Runner is on tonight"
"meep meep"
"what ?"
"meep meep"

Ridley Scotts finest work.

Another time we were out in Tinas car and another friend of ours had moved house. This other friend now lived just up the road from the local police station and as we drove past it I pointed out her new house,
"I could never live there"
"Why not ? It's a gorgeous house"
"It's far too close to the playstation".

In Tina's case she's just funny, and she laughs at herself when you point out her mistakes.
Kids, on the other hand can be quite embarassing.

When Son was about ten I got myself a Slendertone.
One of those devices with pads that you put on your muscles, the idea being that you can tone yourself up without having to move off the sofa whilst eating chocolate and cake.
Or maybe that's just me. Either way it didn't work.

Son got it stuck in his head that it was called a vibrator. At ten I wasn't going to explain to him exactly why that mistake was funny, I think he had probably heard the word somewhere, and since the thing did sort of vibrate it made sense to him. He found it hilarious watching me twitch when I used it too.
And I probably didn't help, because even though I corrected him every time I was always laughing as I did so.
Fine, until you are on the bus and your child says,
"Are you going to use your vibrator when we get home".
Or you are talking to your older posher neighbour over the garden wall and he says,
"Have you used your vibrator today".
Or you hear him saying to his friend,
"You should see my Mum using her vibrator, she goes all twitchy".

Luckily I don't think that child ever went home and said anything to his parents. . .
"and he said I could watch his Mum use her vibrator too"
. . .  because I never got a visit from Child Services.

problem child

There was a woman with her son on my train home from work tonight and the kid was acting up.
Not much really, he kept standing on his seat, she kept telling him to sit back down and he was being a bit loud and cheeky.
The train was pretty full but nobody seemed bothered by him, if anything he was entertaining. Every time he stood up he was chatting to the man in the seat behind him, who didn't seem to mind, but the mother apologised saying the boy had ADHD.

I don't think he did.
He was clearly excited to be on the train and judging by the amount of luggage they had they were either on their way back from or going on holiday.
What was evident was that the mother had no idea of how to manage her son, he was about 5 or 6 and yet there were no comics or toys on their table. He was not listening to her, but she had nothing to offer him as a distraction. I don't know how long they had been on the train but common sense should tell you that the average 6 year old is not going to sit still for too long unless he has something to occupy his mind.

What is wrong with this picture.

I have worked with children who really do have ADHD, and even with medication they are hard to control. Actually I'll rephrase that, since with them it's more that they have a hard time controlling themselves. I have seen kids work themselves into a frenzy, unable to stop whatever it is they are doing even though later they will tell you that they didn't want to - they cannot stop.
I have even known young people ask that staff restrain them when they get that way because they want someone else to take control for them.

Nowadays it seems to me that it's all too easy to label a child as being or having a problem when the real problem lies with the lack of parenting skills.
Doing so can have adverse effects on the child in several ways.
There is stigma attached to any negative label that can stay with you into adulthood, and telling a child it has ADHD can sometimes give it what it takes as an excuse to behave badly, or might mean that adults do not challenge the behaviour because they think it's to be expected.
I've heard parents say that their GP made the diagnosis, I can't speak for other countries but in the UK only a child mental health practitioner is qualified to make that decision or prescribe the drugs used to control it.
All a GP should be doing, if they think there is a problem, is referring a patient to one.
And even they can get it wrong, mild autistic disorders such as Aspergers can often produce similar symptoms.

The drugs that are used to treat the condition can have horrible side effects.
Stunted growth, delay of puberty, excess hairiness and even tourettes - which will appear as tics. I've worked with kids who exhibited all of these, in their cases all were on quite a high dose and a couple were also on anti-psychotics, a combination that is not unusual for extreme ADHD.

When you've seen kids like those you know that a bored six year old having trouble staying in his seat and wanting some attention has only really got one problem.
A parent who has no clue.

I was quite tempted to ask her how she knew her son had ADHD, and was it really a case of she couldn't control him.
But stupid people don't listen anyway, and I'm feeling very tired today so she had a lucky escape.

And whilst I'm talking about lucky escapes meet the latest hunk to message me on a dating site.
I really don't know why I'm bothering.
Blog fodder I guess.

Oh joy, someone who has nipples that are pointing further south then mine.
Ok, I know I am probably what some people might call a lady of a certain age but I still want to actually fancy someone. And anyway I knocked ten years off am vague about my age on my profile.
This is what he has to say about himself,

I am me ?
That's a shame because if you were someone else I might be interested.
Some body ?
Is he into necrophilia ? Sounds like he's not too fussed either way.
This is why you should REALLY be extra careful about grammar when composing profiles, and I can't help thinking about dog treats when I read the last sentence.

I also decided to take a look at the competition . . . .

Ladies - you know how much we hate it when we go out and someone else is wearing the same frock ?

Not only is this the most unflattering article I have ever seen, but there are two of them wearing it.


Yeah, I REALLY don't know why I'm bothering.
Unless I want to buy an overpriced ghastly creation that makes me look like one of those pictures you stare at when you're tripping to make your eyes go wonky.

Thanks to everyone who voted in the poll.
The winning result was that yes I should run for prime minister, but I have to pay you to vote for me.
Just as I thought. . . you lot are as corrupt as me.

the cats whiskers

I am what some people call a "cat person".
One day I will be the crazy old bird who lives with thirty and is found dead having been consumed by her own pussy.

Having recently read a couple of pet related posts I thought I'd write one myself.

It's not that I don't like dogs, I would love to have a Jack Russell, but it's not fair to leave a dog alone all day.
I grew to love Jacks because my sister used to have one, she was a grumpy old thing (the dog not the sister) with a worse case of the mentalpause then me but such a character.
Should that be mentalpaws ?
When son was little we sometimes had her for the week-end, and she very quickly learnt the things he did that always caused me to shout at him. The end result being that as soon as she heard him kick his shoes down the stairs she would run out and bark at him before I had a chance to shout.
I learnt to watch the TV for any adverts that had the sound of a doorbell. Because if she heard one I would have to get up and pretend to open the front door to get her to stop barking.

My sister used to make matching hats for her boyfriend and the dog.
(I know what you're thinking, and yeah madness runs in the family).
One day I got chatting to a little old lady at a bus stop who had a Jack Russell and she told me that she had seen the funniest thing while walking her dog on the common. A man and a dog wearing the same hats.
I didn't tell her.

My Dad also has a Jack. Sometimes she wears my glasses.

Meet Daisy, I think she thinks it makes her look intelligent.

A cat doesn't care if you're out all day, in fact a cat prefers it when you are because then it doesn't have to share the bed / sofa / heating with you.
It only needs you to be there to feed it - in fact mine seem to be under the illusion that I only come home because they're hungry since as soon I get in the door I am expected to fill the food dish before I have taken my coat off.

Even if Son came home half an hour before and fed them.

Maybe I should show them this. As a threat.

I think those people who assume that their predisposition to perform tricks means that dogs are cleverer then cats are wrong.
I think it means they are smarter.

And don't feel the need to please or impress anyone, as the world revolves around them since they are the superior species.
Most cats think they are in fact the cats whiskers.
I have known cats that will fetch a favourite toy, and had cats that worked out how to open a door or window, and not just those that involve a push. The cat we had when I was a kid would stand on the bottom bolt of our back door and hook one paw through the handle whilst banging on the catch with the other one, at the same time he would kind of push his weight against the door until it opened.

For weeks my Mum was moaning at me and my sister for leaving the door open.
Until the day she heard it being banged and saw what the cat was doing.

When you want to teach your dog a trick it thinks "I best learn this because it makes my master happy", when a cat wants to learn something (and a cat learns a trick because it wants to - not because you want it to) it thinks "What's in it for me".
And if the answers nothing then forget it.
Who needs a cat treat when you can catch a mouse.
In fact often it's the cat that thinks the human needs a treat. You learnt to feed me so here, have a dead bird, you deserve it.

Of course just because your cat doesn't need you doesn't mean it's not going to make you pay if it feels you have let it down.
I used to have a little silver tortoise shell, her routine was to come on my bed in the morning while I was drinking my coffee for a fuss. Whether I wanted to fuss her or not.
Then I got a job that meant I was away a week at a time.
Eventually I had to put a lock on my bedroom door because her way of pissing me off showing her displeasure at me for going away was to leave a turd curled up in the middle of my bed.
The night before I came home.
Once I left that job all was fine and I no longer needed to lock the door, but when I went on holiday I came home to find a runny turd IN MY HANDBAG !!
It went straight in the bin - contents too. There might've been money in that bag but I wasn't going to look.

A couple of years ago, by which time I had another three male cats, it became very obvious that she was not happy. She hardly ate and started to look very ragged - even though the vet could find nothing wrong with her - so a friend said she would take her. Within a week she was looking happy and healthy again, obviously she wanted to be the only cat.
About a month later the same friend told me she had gone away for a week-end and came home to find a "present" on her bed.
I laughed and told her to check her bags.
Maybe I should've warned her. . .

I'm not one of those people who thinks her pets are children, but I do love them. I mentioned a few posts ago that we have recently lost one.
His name was Nelson.
Because he was a black cat Son had wanted to name him after a famous black person and I didn't want a cat called Tupac.

A few days ago Son informed me that he thought we should get another cat, as he had a dream and Nelson (he was very devoted to Son) had told him it was fine.
I said I would, but not just yet, and that when I did it would be a female.
"Ok, but we are going to call it Naomi"
"Why ?"
"Because that is Nelson Mandelas daughters name"
"Is it, how do you know that ?"
"Naomi Campbell, she's his daughter"

I'm sure I don't know where he gets his brains from.

My second favourite tshirt. 

My favourite one says "I'd like to fuck your brains out but you don't have any". A statement that is only backed up by the amount of men who read the first bit and get sleazy without bothering to read the rest.

When Son was about seven I adopted a black and white cat from a friend of a friend as it's owners were living in a third floor flat. What they failed to mention was that this cat was not neutered. The huge furry bollocks it possessed were a source of fascination to Son, who would lift up the cats tail and show his friends.
"Look, my cat has huge nuts ".
However the huge furry bollocks also meant that the cat was spraying in the house and so they had to come off.
I explained about this to Son, as he was certainly going to notice when they weren't there anymore, that the cat was going to have an operation to remove them.

The dogs bollocks ? Nah cat's are bigger.

A few weeks later Son went for a check up on his eye, he had been born with a slight squint and the treatment was to wear an eye patch for a couple of hours a day on the good eye to strengthen the other one. It was checked every month, the plan being that when there was no further improvement for three months he would have an operation to correct it.
As it turned out this appointment was the one where he reached that stage, and so after the usual eye tests we had to go and speak to the surgeon.

So there we are sat in this very posh mans office and he says,
"So young man I think it's time we brought you in for a little operation"
At which Son jumps up, grabs his crotch and says,
"You're not cutting my nuts off".

I had to explain about the cats operation.

If you really wanted to see a post about my actual cats then here's one I made earlier.

it's not right, but it's ok

And so Whitney becomes yet another person to enter that ever increasing group of musicians who lost their lives as a result of living the high life too hard.
Of course it's tragic, but given her well publicised descent into drug and alcohol dependancy can anyone really be that surprised ?

Apparently this now makes her a legend.
Why ?
If it was a random junkie found dead lying in a back alley in a pool of vomit everyone would say they deserved it, if they bothered to have an opinion at all. Just because you're rich and famous are you immune from the reactions the rest of us would get if we decided to push the self destruct button ?
There are many people who turn to drugs as a means of escape from whatever horrors life has thrown at them and nobody gives a fuck, other then to think they are bad people.

Hmmm.

What annoys me is the public mourning that seems to follow any of these deaths.
Why are all these idiots suddenly acting as if they lost a friend ?
Suddenly social networks are full of outpourings of grief from people who might not have even said they were a fan last week. It's like Diana syndrome all over again, everyone wants a piece of sympathy, everyone has a favourite Whitney song that they are going to torture the neighbours with play over and over, and of course once again lay the blame for her demise squarely at the feet of Bobby Brown.

Be sad for her and her family if you must, but it's not a time for more recriminations and unless you personally knew her why are you so upset ? It's true that she always had a good church girl reputation before they got together, but who really knows. And if any of these losers mourners really cared they would realise that right now Bobby is grieving and trying to help their child through the worst time of her life.
Same thing happened with Amy Whinehouse and her husband - even though she already had a bad girl rep when they got together, he still got vilified in the press for being responsible for her addictions.

That pisses me off too. Unless someone holds a gun to your head or physically forces you to take something then it's nobodies fault but your own, in fact it's not even a matter of fault, it's actually a question of choice.
Albeit a bad choice.
Snort or smoke ? Weed or crack ?
You decide.
When it comes to taking drugs for purely recreational reasons the only difference between celebrities and the rest of us is that they have enough money to afford better quality drugs and plenty of them.
More choice.
Which of course means stronger and therefore more likely to produce a dependancy far quicker.

When I first discovered the joys of getting off my face the only thing I could afford in any quantity was speed, but I bet the rich and famous can get anything they want.
I do know people who tried drugs and didn't like how they felt so never did it again.
I loved it, and during that period of my life I only had relationships with fellas who loved them too. Anyone who was concerned about my drug use could've easily looked at that and blamed the guys, but the truth was I WANTED to get smashed.
All the fucking time.
And when your life is going down that route chances are that the people you will meet and attract are on the same path. Imagine trying to have a relationship when one of you is permanently smashed and the other is stone cold sober, it would be like spending your life arriving at a party six hours late.

But mutual partying can all too easily turn into mutual destruction.
I've been there.

I think that often what causes the downfall of celebrities when it comes to drink and drugs is actually the lifestyle that enables it in the first place. There are a lot of people who like to get smashed and party but because they are ordinary folk who have responsibities like going to work and taking care of other aspects of their lives they can't be continually wasted. But when you don't have to do the mundane things that keep the rest of us grounded it must be very easy to just party all the time - and then it can all too easily become a dependency that isn't fun anymore.

I don't think there is anything wrong with the occasional joint, I used to smoke weed every day, even after I stopped everything else.
But the occasional crack pipe ? No such thing.

Personally I kind of liked bad Whitney better.
I could relate to her.
My Love is Your Love is the only CD of hers I own, far superior to all the sugary disco ballady crap she made before it.
Although I used THAT song (which I actually hate) as a child behaviour modification device.

You know how every parent has the thing they threaten their kids with to get them to stop whatever devilment they are getting up to ?
Well of course most times "The Look" is enough, but there’s always those times when parents are forced to resort to the Naughty Step or GO TO YOUR ROOM!

I had a better one.

Mine was STOP IT OR I’LL SING THAT SONG. The song in question being I Will Always Love You.
Seriously, I would just sing “iiiifff iiii ……”
And son would say,
“Alright alright I’ll stop just PLEASE DON’T SING”
Honestly, it worked. Every fucking time.

Even now he hates my singing, and I don't blame him it's truly awful, but one of the joys of parenthood is returning the embarrassment your little brat angel knowingly unwittingly forced upon you when they were small.
Has to be done.
And I've never been one to miss an opportunity for a spot of revenge.
So when Son went out and left his mobile at home I recorded myself singing the Whitney song all the way through. High screeches notes and all.

Then set it as the ringtone for when I called him.

And waited until he was round his mates a couple of days later then called him.

And for that I thank you Ms Houston. RIP.

i wish i hadn't heard that

RIP Joe.

A man and a legend.

I do like boxing, it's the only sport I really watch, although I think it's been a long time since the sport had a true champion like it did in the days of Frazier, Ali, Foreman and their like.
And Sugar Ray was CUTE.
Maybe Tyson could've been, but he let himself down outside the ring. Rapists have no place in public adoration.
We've had a few half decent UK fighters - but none that come close to the greats.

I got my love of the sport from watching those guys with my Dad.

My blogger pal Al, over at Penwasser Place wrote a post about his time in the US Navy and Veterans day. My Dad was in the Royal Navy in his younger years and the comment I left there made me think of a couple of funny things.

My parents split when I was 14. This was not at all a traumatic thing for me, in fact it was a bit of a relief. All I remember them ever doing was arguing so it was no shock - sometimes I think I maybe saw it coming before they did.
I was a Daddys girl - still am really - but as I hit full on puberty and rebellion and began the five year war with my Mum, so Dad became my ally (he no longer needed to back Mum up to keep the peace) and his flat was my refuge when I wanted to escape. Mostly I think he respected, especially by the time I was about 16 or 17, that I was growing up and let me make my own huge mistakes decisions and then bailed me out talked it through with me.
As a result of that we can talk about things that maybe some Dads and daughters can't.

This is not always a good thing.

He's in his eighties now and not in the best of health although still very independent, but I like to hear from him every day. We do this via the daily filthy text joke.
I frequently have a conversation where I will read one to a friend. . .
"Who sent you that?"
"My Dad"
"Your DAD sent you THAT ???"

He once told me the story of how he ended up getting circumcised by a Navy surgeon, apparently Dad was not lacking in size and the doctor ("He was fucking faggot too..") asked him to drop his trousers then lifted the offending appendage up with a pencil and made a complimentary remark.
At which point Dad replaced his clothing and told him he "best get someone else to do the op because I'm worried what you might do to it when I'm out cold . . ."
He had shared this because I thought Son might've had a problem and I'd asked his advice.
TMI Dad, TMI.

Not the first time he put a picture in my head that I really didn't want to see.

One night he had gone out and met a rather nice young lady who had agreed to go home with him. He said he knew she was a fair bit younger then him but although he was in his early fifties at this point, Dad has always looked a lot younger then his years. (I love him for passing those genes to me). So he gets back to his flat and the female spots the picture of me and my sister when we were teenagers on his wall.
She points at me and says
"That's ..............isn't it ?"
Dad asked her how she knew me.
"Well I don't really know her, but I remember her because she was well known in the year above me at school".
Dad called her a cab.


The saying is that sailors have a girl in every port and I once asked my Dad if he did.
"No, but I once caught a nasty dose of the clap from a prostitute in Korea that I had to get rid of before I got back home to your Mother".

When Son was first at College he had kept mentioning a girls name, and one day when he was kind of distracted I said it sounded like he had a girlfriend. . .
"Nooo, she just comes round and gives me a blow job when you're at work"

Great.
So now my Son was also putting pictures in my head.
There are some things a Mother just doesn't need to know.
Or a daughter.

Because when I relayed this story to Dad. . . .
"Lucky bleeder, when I was his age if I wanted one of them I had to pay for it".

You think ?

My favourite of all his stories though is not at all rude, but from when he was a boy growing up in a city that was getting bombed by the Germans.

Dad, as usual, had left for school in the morning but also, as usual, had not actually gone to school and was instead playing by the locks. In those days where there is now a train line there was a canal.
During the morning, the Luftwaffe had decided to drop a bomb on Dads school.
Luckily there were no casualties and all the children were accounted for. . . .apart from Dad.

When it was the right time Dad had made his way home.

Meanwhile a policeman had been despatched to the house to give his Mother the bad news.

He said as he walked in the front door my Gran screamed, lunged at him, hugged him then hit him and continued to switch between the two for quite a while.

Dad has told me that he is writing all his memories down.
I have suggested to him that he should get a computer to do it, but he says he likes writing by hand. In a way that's a bit of a shame because I'm sure it would make for a great blog.

Either way I can't wait to read them.
Even if some of them are bound to give me nightmares.

He's a bit of a legend himself.

And just to prove my point, here's a selection of this weeks jokes from Dad.
Enjoy.

Today my mate was doing a crossword and asked me if I knew the medical term for a swollen vagina.
He's a thick cunt.

I was down the gym this morning when I noticed a hole in my trainer big enough to get my finger in.
Anyway, she's now made a formal complaint.

My dysexic friend told me he was going to be covering his penis in black shoe polish last week-end.
I said to him "you idiot you're supposed to be turning the clock back".

A priest booked into a hotel and told the receptionist he hoped the porn channel was disabled.
She said "no you sick bastard it's ordinary porn".

A man was in court charged with murdering his pretty young wife. The judge asked him what he had to say in his defence.
"Well your honour I came home and found the dirty slut in bed fucking my best friend so I shot her"
The judge said he thought that was fair enough and asked the man what happened to his best friend.
"I wagged my finger at him and told him he was a bad dog".

Went to bed with two Thai girls last night. It was like winning the lottery, we had six matching balls.

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.

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. . .

teenage kicks

My blogger friend Lily recently wrote a post concerning her 'lil man' and his impending puberty. In response to her and a few of the comments (and also because the Hasidic Plumber has started writing guides and I want in on the book) I have decided to produce a guide to living with teenage boys. Son is 25 now, so I have lived through this traumatic experience and am worn out qualified in this subject.
I don't know whether any of this is relevant to teenage girls, I never had one of them. Of course I was one myself a long time ago, but at the time I was far too busy sulking in my room having fun to take much notice.
So anyway. . . 

Introduction :
You remember that lovely, well mannered, polite little boy who used to listen to you and who loved to go places with you. The one who came home from school and told you all about his day, the one who if he went somewhere without you would tell you that he missed you when he got back. The cute kid who kissed you goodbye and cuddled up on the sofa, who liked to get in your bed and snuggle up to read a book or watch a film ?

He's gone.
Hormones have got him.

But don't worry, he'll be back in about six years, and there's a very good chance he won't leave until he's at least 30.

Personal Hygiene :
In the early stages of puberty there is no such thing, around the same time that your teenager begins to stink need to use deodorant and shower at least once a day, he will develop an aversion to water.
Later on it becomes an obsession. To begin with you will have the usual struggle to get him in the bathroom although once there he will not want to leave. Eventually he will shower at least twice a day and demand to be bought men's shower gel, deodorant and possibly various hair products. (Which will all be left without the lids on). This stage will roughly coincide with a growing interest in girls, and is likely to be your only clue that he no longer hates the opposite sex.

Clothing :
Teenage boys are pack animals. This enables them to 'take over' skate parks, shopping centres and other places they 'hang out', and later helps with hunting the female of their species. In order for them to spot their own tribe and the correct females they need a means of identification.
This is called fashion.
You, the parent, are old. You are not expected to like or understand your sons choice of attire (although you will be expected to fund it), and you should never mock his uniform or his hair.
No matter how tempting.

Privacy :
All areas of your sons life. . .  school, friends, girls, where he goes, what he does, what he spends your his money on, when he will be home, who he is talking to on the phone, what he is doing on the computer, what those magazines are, why he suddenly has so many odd socks, why he can't tidy up . . . is none of your business.

Diet :
A growing boy needs to eat a lot. It is important that you keep the cupboards well stocked with your son's favourite foods. You must never mention the cost, he is not interested in how or where it comes from he just needs it be there when he is hungry and that is all the time. His dinner should be ready whatever time he comes home - as a parent you do not need to ask him when this may be, and ON NO ACCOUNT are you to phone him when he is with his friends to ask.
He will probably see your name on his phone and ignore it anyway.

Vocabulary :
It is perfectly acceptable for teenage boys to revert to using mostly grunts and mumbles. Unless talking about computer games (in which case you must appear to be suitably interested), informing parents of how embarrassing they are or talking to friends.
Some other sentences may be audible to the parent but these will be limited to :
"I hate you / that's not fair"
"What's for dinner"
"Can I have some money"
"I need some new trainers and/or game/ games console"
"Where are my trainers"
"No"

Hearing :
Do not be concerned if your teenager suddenly appears to be deaf. There is no need to take him to the doctor (as if he'd go without a fight anyway). To test his hearing try asking him if he would like some new trainers or telling him he is grounded.

Behaviour :
Normal 'at home' behaviour for your boy will be to be horizontal unless eating, using the bathroom or playing computer games, and even then he will find a way to do these that involve as little movement as possible. He will only become animated if agitated and will then slam doors and stamp about the house loudly.

Teenage boys will have mood swings, but unlike girls for whom this will likely settle into a monthly rhythm, your son will have them at any time. Without any obvious (to you) provocation.
Even though it is caused by hormones on no account should you attempt to discuss this with him, he will think you are going to talk about sex.
You have two choices, ignore him or give him money and he will go away - to his friends or his room. Either way you should not expect to see him for at least four hours. When he reappears you should not mention his previous tantrum.
He will probably have another one soon anyway.
This is allowed since he is the centre of the universe and the world revolves around him.

Sex and Girls :
You are NOT ALLOWED to ask your teenager about girls. If before puberty your relationship with your son meant he could talk to you about anything he may occasionally want to discuss this delicate subject. If this happens you should only answer the questions asked and remember the conversation is over when he leaves the room decides.
On no account should you attempt to discuss sex with the teenager. He gets his sex education from his mates, lads mags and Internet porn - he has no use for your old fashioned ideas about it.
He is a teenager and they invented sex.
You may, if you feel it is likely to be necessary, buy your teenager condoms. But - you must leave them in a discreet place in his room (if you can get in) and never talk about it.

See. . . there is no need to worry.

Note : Parents of teenagers DO NOT have sex. If you must do it then it should be done quietly and as quickly as possible, preferably when the teenager is out. You must never do or say anything in front of the teenager that even suggests you have ever had sex.
His conception must remain a mystery.

Bedroom :
The only thing a parent needs to know about a teenage boys bedroom is that it is OUT OF BOUNDS.
He does things in his room that are no concern of yours.
In order to keep you out your teenager needs to lay traps cover the floor in clothes, dirty cups and rubbish, and as an extra parent deterrent his body will secrete substances that make his room smell like a hamsters cage.
You may need to enter in order to collect things that need to be washed, but you must remember that the teenage boy thinks clothes are washed 'by magic', so you should leave no other evidence that you have entered his territory.
When the clothes are clean you may return them to the room ready for him to replace on the floor.

Discipline :
You really think you can discipline a teenage boy ?
If you really want your teenager to do something, such as tidy his room, you are much better off bribing him to do it rather then trying to punish him when he doesn't.
However when asking him to do any task you need to be VERY specific.
For instance it is no good telling him he needs to tidy his room, you need to break it down. ie Pick up your clothes, fold them, put them on hangers, hang them up, put the games in their cases (good luck with that one), wipe the shelf, put them on the shelf.
Just telling him to tidy his room will only confuse his hormone addled brain and in an effort to make himself feel better he is likely to make it worse.
Or have a tantrum.

Cool Parents :
You may think you are one.
Your teenager doesn't. He possibly thinks you, your fashionable clothes, tattoos and attempts to talk to his friends are even more embarrassing then his mates 'normal' parents.

Gay Teenagers :
I don't have anything to offer on this one, I figure I better include it because they are out there, but my Son turned out straight. I've told him many times that this is a source of disappointment to me, I want to go to Gay Pride and wear a t-shirt that says "I love my gay son" but he refuses to comply.
Selfish fucker.
I think I'll get the t-shirt, take a picture of me in it and have it as my facebook picture. That'll teach him.

Which brings me nicely to. . .
Parents Revenge :
You remember all those things your kid did when he was little that embarrassed you ?
Wait until he has all his friends round then tell them all about it.

A favourite of mine happened when Son was about nine and knew a little about sex.
He was outside playing with some friends then came in and said,
"Mum, do you know what a blow job is?"
Ok, so I always tried to be honest with him, but there are some things even a 'cool' Mother doesn't want to discuss with her nine year old, and sometimes there's no need so I say,
"Why are you asking me that?"
"Because Nathan (horrible older kid who liked to get the younger ones in trouble) was talking about it and told me and Tom we're stupid because we didn't know what it was"
"Well did Nathan tell you what he thought it was?"
"Yeah, he said it's when you put your willy in a girls mouth"
(Hmmm . . . not gonna set him up for more mocking from Nathan am I?)
"Ok, yes, it is, it's something that some grown ups do. . . "
"URGHHHHHHH YUUUUUUKKKK I'm NEVER doing that!"

I'm pretty sure he's changed his mind about that now.
And if it all get too much. . .

Valium and Tequila.
(For you, not the teenager).

This is an OLDER POST I wrote about living with the opposite sex, there's some stuff there that might also help explain a few things about teenage sons.