The Poor Purple Corsa

For Day 3 of the Blogtober17  challenge with HexMum the prompt is ‘Car’. I didn’t learn to drive until I was 27. I was never really interested nor could I afford it being a single parent but I managed to scrape the money every week and spend an hour with a man with an inate ability to talk non stop for an hour and not breathe. He didn’t have time I swear!

He was a funny man, always in smart business wear despite the fact he was boiling most of the time and his directions went from “and if you could just pull up here” to “pull over into the other lane now or you’re going to be squashed dead by that lorry.”

I wasn’t a very confident learner, mind you that’s pretty much me all over. I was forever saying I couldn’t and he was forever telling me I could. And after about 45 lessons I did. Well actually I didn’t, I failed the first time with my reverse around a corner. Something I have not once done in my 12 years of driving. I passed the second time with a few minors.

My Mum took me to buy my first car, as a surprise. Isn’t she awesome?! It was a purple Corsa 1.2 and I loved it! She made me drive it home across several dual carriageways and about 10 miles from home, I swear she did it on purpose! I crapped myself, not literally but it wasn’t far off and the one thing I will always remember about that day is getting stuck in the carpark outside her house. It was on a slant and there were cars everywhere, being used to learning with power steering and then having a car without was a recipe for disaster. I’m convinced to this day she got out and left me to it on purpose so I would just have to get on with it. She denies it of course but I know!

It took me a good 20 minutes and a 3456426 point turn to get out of there, by which time I’d attracted the neighbours. They obviously wouldn’t have known that I’d just passed my test but there isn’t really any need to be quite such a dick pointing and laughing is there?! I got out eventually, obviously! I didn’t die there in my little Corsa gripping the steering wheel and gritting my teeth. Bet the knobhead neighbours would have just tutted at me being in their way even if I had.

One normal boring old day I was pootling to work (love that word) and my poor purple Corsa and I had no idea it was the day it would go to the scrap heap in the sky.

I was on a dual carriageway approaching a roundabout to go straight over, nothing from my right so kept going. Out of nowhere someone coming from the left of the roundabout drove straight across in front of me. I shit a brick, braked as hard as possible, skidded a bit and smashed straight into the side of him. No air bags in my car so there I am sat in my car staring at the wide eyed bloke staring back at me. God it was surreal, like it was happening to someone else and I wasn’t there. I got out and he started screaming at me. “Look what you’ve done to my wife” he bellowed. Said wife smiled meekly and told him to be quiet. After all, he had in fact pulled out in front of me when I had right of way. We moved the cars, the police came, we swapped details and off I went to work. Yeah I went to work. My boss took one look at me and sent me off to the hospital, where I was checked over and declared fine but with whiplash.

My little purple Corsa was declared a write off and sadly was no more. I got a Renault Megane instead. WORST bloody car EVER. A few cars later and I now have a Hyundai which is bloody fab.

What’s the best/worst car you’ve owned?




A Letter To My Kids Now I’m Working Full Time

I had a sense of Déjà vu as we sat down to talk. Remembering my Mum (Nana) doing the same thing to Uncle Justin and I. She said “do you want Mummy to be home all the time or do you want treats, holidays and days out?” We went for the latter. We always had holidays to Tenby, days out to Oakwood and much more. Mum worked hard (still does). She was a single parent for a while and it must have been exhausting for her, working all day and coming home to meet our demands too.

So I told you I was going to be at work Monday to Friday from now on because the other lady I work with was leaving and the opportunity was there. Daddy and I had talked about it and decided it was a good idea because we bumble along at the moment but this would make life easier. You looked sad for a little while as I went on to explain that I was doing it for us to have more money, for a better life. A chance to have holidays and more fun days out. “Could we have a holiday?” you piped up Little Man. “Where would you like to go?” I asked. “A caravan in Porthcawl” you answered and I gave you the biggest hug because when you’re little a caravan holiday to a seaside town with a fair, arcades and icecreams of all colours is beyond your wildest dreams.

I promise I will still be there to get you ready for school, to kiss you goodbye and tell you I love you before you start the walk to school with Daddy, I may not be there to pick you up from the gate but I will still take you to gymnastics Little Lady and tut at all the other parents who, despite being British don’t understand the concept of a queue. I will make it to all your concerts and parents evenings as I always have because I love to see your little faces light up when the teacher is saying all those lovely things about you. Even though in your case Little Lady I sometimes sit there with my mouth hanging open in disbelief as they tell me how quiet you are and they barely hear a peep out of you.

I reminded myself of Nana (in a good way, not in stern get your elbows off the table way) when I set about ironing a huge pile of your uniforms in a bid to be totally organised, I would usually wing it but I’m determined to start as I mean to go on and not rush around in a panic because I can’t find anything. So far we have got ourselves in a routine that works. I still get the best cuddles when I walk through the door, play board games on the bedroom floor and get our weekends all to ourselves. I hope that as you grow up you will see that working hard is good not only to keep your head above water financially but that it gives you good self esteem too as your older brother has found now he too has a full time job. I don’t claim to be the perfect Mum by any stretch of the imagination but I have and always will, try my best. Because I love the bones of you, my little monkeys.


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Dear Diary 1st June 2017

Number of times I’ve been called Mum: 22,550

Number of fights broken up: 3264

Dear Diary… Argument with the Teen today about him listening to music too loud through his headphones. Yeah, he can roll his eyes and tell me to stop nagging but let’s see how funny it is when he can’t hear a damn thing in his thirties. Mind you he doesn’t tend to hear a bloody word I say now anyway unless it’s something to do with either food or money.

Little Lady started a Gymnastics class. For months and months she had been asking to go, after many an email back and fore to the Gymnastic club trying to get a class that worked around my working hours I finally got one. She was so excited until the morning of said class came. Then she decided she didn’t want to go. FML. Much coaxing and pleading changed her mind eventually but she’d only go if she didn’t have to wear socks – I’ve never known a kid who hates wearing socks as much as her – as I was leaving the room I caught her asking Siri if you have to wear socks for Gymnastics. Awwwwww.

Car went in for MOT. Have hated taking the car to the garage ever since that time not long after I passed when I drove into the garage and beeped the horn by mistake and all the lads jumped a mile and tutted at me while I died. Good news was that the car passed. Bad news was that when I dropped the car off I had to walk home about a mile in the pissing down rain, I was soaked right through. Not fun.

We have been attempting to redecorate. It’s not an easy job as it appears that the previous occupants saw fit to apply filler to the walls with what appears to be a knife and fork so it looks like we’ll be saving up the dosh for replastering. Bloody marvellous.

Had an awesome conversation with Little Lady about her becoming a Mum in the very, very distant future.

Little Lady: “I want 2 children, a boy and a girl.”

Me: “Aww, that’s lovely they might be just like you.”

Little Lady: “No”

Me: “Why not?”

Little Lady: “I want them to be good”

Me: ……….

Introduced the kids to the Labyrinth, I’m pleased that they loved it. We even bought it on DVD, in a boxset with The Dark Crystal. Now they’re both those types of films that you either love or the they freak the hell out of you. A few years ago I told a friend (we’ll call him Spidey – he’ll like that) about my love of The Dark Crystal expecting him to like it too. Only I got it totally wrong and he was a bit more “what the hell did you make me watch?” It’s a totally different experience watching it as an adult than a kid though. My brother and I spent years telling each other “I hate your whimper!” that’s the best bit.


We have Little Lady & Little Man’s Birthday Party coming up. This is the first party we’ve had that hasn’t meant inviting the kids friends to the house. Should be interesting, I know the kids will love it. Soft Play. My nemesis. Lord help me.



They’re Not Your Friend

Being a teen is hard. Raising a teen is also hard. Getting, keeping and getting on with friends can also be hard. After attending a kids party  recently I realised how hard it is to make friends when you’re an adult and everyone already has their groups and aren’t willing to let an outsider in. It’s made me think back to my younger teenage self and what I would tell her about friends.

Friends. Who’d have ’em? Well, most of us hopefully in some form or other. Some people keep the same group of friends over the years, some have different groups of friends, some may even have none at all.

I lost my best school friend about a year after we’d finished comprehensive school, we’d gone to college to do different courses and during that time had made new friends from those respective courses. There was one girl in particular whom she had befriended who I didn’t take to. Just one of those things, you can’t like everyone so I just avoided her.  As time went on though it occurred to me she had an agenda. I had new boyfriend at the time and had confided in my BF that he was a bit too nice and I wasn’t sure where it would go and if he was the one for me. In turn my BF had told this girl (not sure why) who it turned out was also a mutual friend of my boyfriend. She then came to me and told me that if I didn’t tell him, she would. I was young, naive and so I finished with him rather than her drop me in it and cause a big scene, which looking back is obviously what she was hoping for.

The nail in the coffin however was when I’d gone out for the night clubbing with my new college friends I was aware that this girl was also there, as was my BF’s boyfriend – not together- but not my BF. I said “Hi!” to both at different times and thought no more of it. The next day however I got a distressed phone call from my BF asking me who the hell I thought I was kissing her boyfriend? When I asked her where on earth she’d got that idea from, in the back of my mind I already knew. Of course it was her, lighting the fuse and standing back as it went off. My BF was devastated, understandably as she thought her boyfriend and I had cheated but other than the quick hello I’d not even been near him. I was really angry that not only was I being accused of something I hadn’t done but that she blatantly believed it. We were never really friends afterwards and whilst it all seems very childish now but at the time it seemed the end of the world.

With those things filed under experience these are the things I’d tell my younger self and my own teen about friends.

• If they put you down and make you feel shit about yourself? They’re not your friend.

• If they let you down time and time again? They’re not your friend.

• If they try it on with your significant other or even just someone you’ve told them you have ‘a thing’ for? They’re not your friend.

• If they make snidey comments about you either to you face or behind your back? They’re not your friend.

• If they constantly ask for favours but never return them? They’re not your friend.

• If you’ve asked tactfully or otherwise not to say things that upset you and they still do? They’re not your friend.

• If they try to get you to do something they know you’re not comfortable with? They’re not your friend.

• If they tell lies about you or anyone else to make themselves look good or get their own way? They’re not your friend.

Basically what I’m trying to say is if they don’t treat you with respect you don’t have to put up with it just because you think you’ll have no friends. You WILL make new ones. Your life will go in all sorts of different directions and you just never know what’s around the corner.


What’s My Arse Got To Do With It?

There I was Friday afternoon, just left work and popped into the vape shop for the other half (guaranteed to make you feel old & uncool those places – especially in a suit) out I scarpered and wandered round the corner when I was suddenly aware of a couple of teenage lads behind me making comments such as “look at the size of her arse” and making noises like an elephant pounding the pavement. As I turned to look what they were yabbering on about I realised they were talking about me. My ARSE!

The initial shock just made me waddle a bit quicker to just get the hell out of there. Embarrassed, I didn’t say a word. In hindsight (as they say it’s wonderful) I wish I’d let rip and torn them a new one or been like really grown up and flashed them a V. It’s just not in my nature. Instead I tend to spend hours going over all the things I SHOULD have said.

First of all, what’s it to you? Why do you care what size my arse is? Was it blocking your view of the trainers in Sports Direct? How exactly does it impact on your life?

What makes you think it’s ok to not only say something so bloody rude but out loud somewhere public where other people can also hear? Elephants though dude? Could have made an effort.

Would you still think it was funny if your girlfriend/Mum/sister were on the receiving end of it? What if some little knobhead ran up to your old Nana laughing at her “fat arse” eh? Totally hilarious right?

If your idea of someone being an elephant is a size 12 then there’s something seriously wrong with your idea of ‘normal’. Should everyone live on lettuce to meet with your approval?

Initially I felt ashamed that my arse had been the focus of such negativity but then later on I realised that actually, I don’t know those lads nor do I actually give 2 sh*ts what they think of me but what if they’d said that to someone who was bothered? Someone perhaps younger and more impressionable or already struggling with how they feel about their body? Why should they have to sit at home and cry over such spiteful comments? Or worse?

Ok so maybe my bum is a bit Lumpy Space Princess and I could do with losing a few cream cakes but honestly when it comes down to it? It’s none of your sodding business! So next time you feel like taking the mick out of someone who’s arse is nothing to do with you go home, bleach your eyes or whatever makes you feel better and think about how maybe you should just say nothing. Or better still change your whole outlook on life. People come in different shapes and sizes and there’s nothing you can do about it. What you find attractive might be the next persons unattractive. That in itself isn’t a problem, opening your big fat gob, voicing it to the world in a bid to shame people however IS. So basically what I’m trying to say is:

Take your opinion and shove it up your arse.


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