The School Disco With A 90’s Lyrics Quiz

The good old school disco, who didn’t love it? None of your prom nonsense in gorgeous dresses and coiffed hair, in the 90’s when I was a teen we wore Hypercolour t-shirts, shell suits, ruffle front white chiffon blouses or maybe if you had “one of those Mum’s” a neon pink Bridesmaids dress you wore to Aunty Sarah’s wedding in the late 80’s. If your hair hadn’t been crimped or scrunch dried rock solid you just didn’t cut it. Go big or go home. The boys had wet look gel. The whole gigantic tub of it in one go. As slick as Uncle Mick’s frying pan styled quiff.

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Knobheads, Knobheads Everywhere

Over the years I’ve come across many of lifes, um…lovely people. You know the type, the ones who make your eyes roll so hard they fall out and you have to chase them up the road but you can’t see though can you so you trip over your own daps and headbutt a dog poo bin. Here are some of the particularly knobby ones I’ve attracted recently.

• Mcdonalds Chav Crew – look, I’m 40 now. Which is old as fudge, meaning gangs of lairy cross body bagged teens are a bit intimidatey (nope don’t care it’s not a word) when you’re fighting your way through the purple grape vape fog just to get a poxy Happy Meal. Not to be confused with the kids who sit having a chat with their mates, I’m talking about the ones where 1 kid is ALWAYS on a bike, 1 uses the c word every other and there’s 2 laughing about their latest fight and how they kicked Callum’s head right in while fist bumping. Continue reading

Anyone Seen My Confidence?

I love my children and I love being a Mum. Like most parents I often doubt how good I am at it though. My confidence seems to have buggered off on holiday and is currently getting smashed in a bar in Ibiza, dancing to the Macarena & fending off pissed up admirers who’ve had a little too much Dutch courage.  Do I do enough? Am I bringing them up the right way? Am I ballsing it up? Do they eat enough fruit, get enough sleep?It’s easy to doubt yourself though, probably far easier than it is to convince yourself that actually you’re doing your best and that your best IS good enough. When I had children I think my confidence took a knock as also spoken about by the lovely Lianne at Anklebiters Adventures, whilst I’ve never been much of a gobby cow I’m sure I was never quite as reserved as a kid/teen and would speak up if I needed to.

Sometimes you find yourself watching ‘that parent’ the one who just seems to constantly have their shit together and wish you could be just like them. They just have that air of togetherness about them and you just can’t imagine them flapping about forgetting to rub their concealer in or leaving shaving foam all over their chin. Have they though? Are they showing a calm and collected exterior when in reality they’ve spent the morning scraping shit off the bathroom floor or wondering how the feck they’re meant to remove the Sharpie drawn poo emoji from the hallway wall.

There’s a work colleague that I’ve known for a good few years that I’d love to be more like. Absolute opposite of me, he oozes confidence and lives his life not giving two f**ks what anyone thinks of him, not in a ‘he’s a bit of an arrogant twat’ kind of way, just the take no shit kind of way. For the purpose of this post we’ll call him Dave, I would like to be like him.

But I’m not.

I’m actually an anxious and quite shy person. People who know me well would probably read this and think “huh?” forgetting that when they first met me I would have been the one sat in the corner, not saying a word. I hate being the centre of attention, having all eyes on me – one of the reasons I’d never want a big wedding. I hate being picked for role play scenarios during training at work, when my name is called I want to get up and run. Of course I can’t and don’t, mainly because my arse would wobble about way too much and draw even more attention to me but enough about that.

Some time ago I read a post by Amy Treasure about faking confidence and have kept it in mind ever since. In the post she talks about thinking of someone that you think of as really confident and do what you think they would. So I think of Dave and what he would do. I use it to stop myself from legging it away from something that makes me nervous.

I have started to force myself to be more confident even though I don’t really feel it. I find it quite easy to jump in and make myself heard when it’s anything to do with my children however if someone is upsetting me personally I tend to bite my tongue and fume inside. With age I’m finding I’m quicker to say my peace but I still go over things in my mind and wish I’d said this or that. I hope that in the years to come I’ll begin to feel more at ease with myself and find my long lost confidence.

Do you feel more or less confident after having children? Do you think you’re exactly the same as before or do you have ways of faking it til you make it too?

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The Old Man Is Snoring


 If, like me,you spend most nights trying not to bludgeon your hubby (or wife, dog or anyone else for that matter) to death with your favourite shoes (tip – use the daps they’re stingy and deliver a satisfying slap) then I totally feel your pain!

I’m talking the kind of snoring that could wake the dead, that you can imagine the Little Green Men hearing from Mars, wondering what on earth that bloody noise is and whether they’re being threatened or asked down for a pint. At some point you lose patience and think “sod this for a laugh” and bugger off downstairs to the settee. Only if you’re anything like me then a few too many episodes of Stranger Things means you don’t really fancy being stuck downstairs on your own in the dark. How is it possible for it to be so bloody loud?! I’ve often wondered if the neighbours can hear it but then I doubt it as they tend to watch Westerns on TV rather loudly in bed. Which in all honesty can be preferable to Snorting Sid to the left of me.

My kids are now of the age that aside from staying out too late (the teen) and keeping me up worrying and perhaps waking due to illness on occasion (littler ones) that I should actually be getting a decent nights kip. Fat chance of that.

I seem to end up in the kids room most nights, with my daughter the human optopus where it’s not unusual to wake up with a foot or arse to the face.  Little Man snores too, mind you it’s like a form of torture. Hubby gets to starfish in the bed by himself and then has the cheek to say “that was an awful night’s sleep” while scratching his arse and seeking out the cup of tea which I will undoubtedly have made him. I, on the other hand, am spooning, no – make that ladling – coffee into a cup and inhaling it.

We have tried everything going to stop it but none of the magic lotions and potions have helped one iota and those nose strips do look a bit stupid – let’s be fair. To be honest I’m quite surprised he has any ribs left with the amount of elbowing they’ve taken over the years and no, that doesn’t work either, well apart from the 3 seconds he stays awake to shout at me for digging him again. Getting him to turn over just makes him snort a bit and start again.

Sales of energy drinks and coffee must be through the roof because of me to be truthful! Maybe I should try and invent one of my own and call it Snoring Stamina, that’s one for Dragon’s Den right there! So, since we’re not rich enough to own a 10 bedroom mansion where I can have my own private haven and I don’t really fancy a long stretch in the nick I’ll just have to put up with it unless anyone can suggest a magic cure that doesn’t involve smothering with a pillow?!

How do you deal with snoring? Any suggestions welcome!

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Getting To Work In The Snow

❄️ Open the curtains, look outside and see a rectangular lump of snow where the car should be. Decide that even though other cars have attempted to get out of the cul-de-sac on a hill and I quite fancy a day off I don’t really want it to be because I’m dead.

❄️ Choose to risk a mega bollocking of doom by not wearing uniform. They want me in? I’m wearing a jumper. It’s happening. I’m a big girl, I can take it. I hope.

❄️ Get the wellies out from under the mountain of other shoes or at the back of the shed with the huge spiders. Those smelly, rubbery, heavy sods that are meant to keep you dry. With a handy strap to widen them to get your leg in. Lying bastards, I literally force my sausage legs into them and know it’ll be murder to get them off but I’ll have to worry about it later and walk along with half my calf muffin topping them. Sexy.

❄️ Take your life in your hands. Walk on the snow and risk slipping undaintily on your arse or walk on the road and risk getting squashed by a wayward bus or splattered by shit coloured gritty slush. Feel glad there’s not a soul around to hear your mutterings of “shit nearly slipped then” and “yeah, cheers then snow, sitting there looking pretty when really you’re hiding a huge pile of dog shit”

❄️ Realise that by driving to work you miss all the best scenery.

Like this:

And this:

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❄️ Realising you are one lazy, unfit bastard. Being unused to wearing wellies and trudging through snow I swear my thighs will be worthy of any Welsh rugby player by the end of the day. If I ever get there that is.

❄️Arrive at work and feel very deflated at the lack of fanfare or medal bearing Mayor to clap you through the door. My cheeks are bright red, my hair like Worzel’s and I’m a hot, sweaty mess (damn you HR enraging jumper) but I made it and I was on time.

❄️ Feel secretly glad that the boss hasn’t made it in as there’s a huge probability of a welly wanging their way past their gob. They won’t see the funny side. They won’t. That’s if you can get them off of course. It’s like they’ve moulded to you. They are at one with you. Polyvinyl pricks.

❄️ Feel smug that while everyone else is in for losing a days pay you’re still in the money. Yeah it’s all fun and games to turn over in bed send that “I’m not coming in bitches” email and go back to sleep. That is until you get your payslip and realise there’s no money for Quality Street induced comas for Christmas. More like multi pack Smart Price chocolate that tastes like old shoes.

❄️ Forget until home time that your car is not all snugged up in the carpark. You’ve got to get those bloody wellies back on and walk home again. This time it’s even more fun though ‘cos it’s dark. Or maybe catch a bus. Exciting.

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