Saturday, 25 April 2015

Jess observes 24.04.15

1. I went for a massage today; I had a voucher for a local day spa that I have been meaning to cash in. I was really looking forward to it - it's like an acceptable grope fest and they make me feel wanted. 
2. I'm not great at relaxing. It makes me on edge. I checked in to the "day spa" (does this imply that some spas house you for longer periods? Like a month spa or year spa? Sounds lazy) and had the usual therapist conversation where we both pretend to have higher-than-average pitched voices and no local accent. She took my vouchers and told me to wait upstairs for someone called Lauren (masseuses are usually called Lauren or Jo). Cool beans. I sauntered through the building to the beauty bit and passed some rich folk who were spending the day lounging around in towels doing fuck all. 
3. Arrived at the beauty bit. It was called Experience d' Gino di Campo or something. It was empty, so I took this opportunity to mentally check-in with my bladder/bowels o verify that they were happy with being prodded for an hour. They were fine. I gasped at the array of beauty products and skin creams that were displayed in the beauty bit; they were very glossy and very expensive. I wondered if they worked. I'm always sceptical on high-end ranges; the packaging themselves looked costly and I'm unsure on the merits of a face cream (Whip de Visage) that was made with dirt (Nutri-Mud from the Homosapian Earth Fjord). 
4. Lauren rocked up and she also had a squeaky mouse voice. She was nice and told me to take all my clothes off. No foreplay or anything; she cut right to the chase. She told me that she would leave the room and I was to lay on this bed on my front with a towel pulled over the top of me. This is quite hard to do. I think I re-positioned several vital organs and a rib trying to do it. 
5. Lauren came back in and I said "I got a voucher for my birthday" before she had chance to ask the inevitable. The music came on - all Ching-Ching and wallows. She squirted something void into her hand and started feeling me up. It was nice. I said something wanky through a mouthful of tissue (my head was stuck through a paper-punched hole) like "Cor, that smells noice" (my regional dialect had returned with my emerged nakedness) and she said "Mmmmm". I shut up after that. 
6. She kept moving my shoulderblades to varying foreign parts of my body; I know some people dig that but it was a bit unpleasant. I felt like ping like a bin-lid slamming. 
7. I then remembered my pants. I had some really crap knickers on. All holey and grey and elastic fraying. I mentally chastised myself for not wearing those posh ones that Kevin bought me that actually only look nice when I am laying down. 
8. After about 15mins, I opened my eyes, still head-through-hole and started to make shape formations with the stuff that I can see on the floor. If I squinted my eyes a bit, the couch leg, a wire flex and the edge of the towel that was draped over me formed half a face. When squinting a bit more, the eye of the face closed and then opened again. I started a little mental game with this face to see, on opening my eyes suddenly, if face had eyes closed or open. This game got a bit boring after 30-secs or so, which was just as well, as Lauren started jigging the towel around and it felt like she has exposed one of my legs to earth. 
9. "wow!, said Lauren, you are *obviously*  very active and sporty. Your legs have total muscle definition. You must be an athlete of sorts! You are truly amazing!" Thankfully, I did actually anticipate this reaction to my Adonis stature so battered off her lesbian advances with grace and modesty.
10. that bit ^^ didn't happen. It was clearly not evident that I did any exercise at all and all that racing about has actually made no difference to my physique. 
11. This massage was making me feel guilty. This lady was working very hard to make me feel relaxed. It didn't feel right, like, a bit immoral and a piss-take. 
12. I left the day spa light-headed. It was a nice experience and she did a great job. I loved it. I passed the rich couple again in the reception, still mincing around in their towels. I might book the fella and I in. I might even wear my nice knickers.     

Thursday, 9 April 2015

Today's observations 09.04.2015

It's been a while friends.
1. Half Term. It's my first real long one; I'm new to being a mum to a pre-schooler. Anyway, I was a little miffed to see that, on the last day of going to school, Annie didn't bring home a leaflet from the teachers telling us what we have to do during the school holidays. *I* don't know what to do. I can't remember what we did before. Our chunk of  school run and class time routines have been quashed for a fortnight and I'm all mixed up. The teachers didn't tell us what to do and I am all confused. Teachers: in future kindly use some of your spare time - perhaps in your own evening time - to create unimaginative parents like me a "Fun Things to-do whilst Teachers are not babysitting for you" list. Feel free to substitute "Fun" with "Cheap", "Indoors", "Dangerous" or "Pub-friendly". Many thanks. 
2. I'm still not used to the qualification of "term-time"; predominately "in-term", "out of term" and "half term". I don't get it. Let's just call it "2-weeks off", shall we?
3. I note that kids are not going back to school until Tuesday. It doesn't escape my attention that teachers will be getting communally squiffy on this Monday free day. I'll find you out. 
4. Went to a big local farm place today where lots of middle-class people go. You know the one. It has a pride-clothes shop and expensive placebo sausages. The delightful combination of it being cheap, kids being on the hols, it being situated on the edge of a large Ipswich housing estate and the sun being out meant just one thing; There were a fucking lot of kids there. Hugo, Popsy, Buffy and Maude were in abundance and so were their clueless shrill parents. 
5. I'm pretty clueless too. I spent most of the time aimlessly shouting at my kids to stay with me (I have lake phobia at that place) when I could have helped the situation by dressing them in dissimilar clothes to what all the other rodents were wearing. Like a gimp suit or nazi attire or something. Not only would I have been able to locate them instantly, they'd pretty much have the play area to themselves.
6. I know this is a common gripe. I know it's been done before. I'm sorry to harp on. But get your fucking teenager off the play area. My "slap-hand" was itching. A lot. 
7. One teenager actually let me smallest down the slide ahead of him and I was so impressed and temporarily aghast that I actually squeezed his hand and smiled. 
8. So now I am the weirdo mum who poaches middle-class teenagers at local family establishments. 
9. Picnic etiquette. I like to see what everyone else has got. The family next to us had a bowl - like a proper big salad bowl- full of leaves, pomegranate and olives. They'd also brought a really rustic looking baguette too. They were well showing off. Their kids didn't eat it either, the wankers.  You can tell I got really close to look into their bowl of delicatessen wonder. I tried to avoid eye contact for fear that they felt social fulfilment in their ridiculous picnic choice. 
10. Kids just got onto sofa and a ton of fucking sand fell out. 

Sunday, 21 September 2014

Today's observations 20.09.14

1. I went out for dinner with a large crowd of friends last night. There were around 6 couples and we opted for an all-you-can eat type Chinese banquet. It was a really good restaurant and the food quality was amazing. The service, however, was the pivotal part of the experience as it was notably very good, especially for a group of our size that a. Recounted old stories and faux-pas, loudly, at any given opportunity b. Laughed with so much gusto that it likely cheesed off the other romancing diners c. Arrived a bit late d. Insisted on calling the waiters "John" e. Continued to try, with considerable effort, to talk in Chinese to each other f. Sang Happy Birthday several times, again loudly, with a poor attempt at a Mandarin accent. Additionally, the staff calculated our relative incompetence at ordering food and alcohol-catalysed declining IQ levels and took the executive decision to order a massivo plate of starters on our behalf. Which, naturally, worked out because we eat anything.
2. Foot burn in high heels is no laughing matter. The sneaky devil sneaks up on you at impromptu moments. Don't *even think* about taking off your shoe for momentary comfort; you will not be able to put the shoe back on.
3. It happens often. The champ of the night has booked us all into a great restaurant and we are really looking forward to it. We meet in a neighbouring pub beforehand (not a great pub, but I will come onto this shortly). This casual rendezvous is fun; folk haven't seen each other for, in some cases, several years and there was naturally some features up for discussion: kids had, pregnancies pending, new partners, new jobs, growing fatness etc. This is when the inevitable happens and track of time is lost. It's already 10mins passed the time of the table being booked and half of the crowd are outside smoking, the others have just ordered fresh pints, most are engaged in a meaty debate (probably about fatness) and one is shuffling from foot to foot - it's clear that he will want to urinate before we leave the pub. In a nutshell, the rendezvous is a hit but you will *always* be late to the restaurant.
4. This particular rendezvous pub wasn't a classy affair. It did the job, to be fair, in so much that there was a reasonably intact roof, a semi-functioning lavatory and some beer in the fridge. What if didn't have (I've streamlined the list considerably to provide a suitably snippy blog entry) were wine glasses. Not one. Apparently "they were all in the dishwasher". I was given a glass of dry white in a brandy glass that caused me to swish it around in palm of my hand and talk like 007. Actually, in their defence, they popped a little more wine in to compensate the fact that my classy outfit was thwarted by my drinking out of a bucket.
5. I learned last night that a male pastime of yester-year was to wear black socks over trainers in order to gain entry into the nightclub. I'll elaborate; back in the day, one was not allowed to participate in the prestigious nightclubbing experience of Ipswich if you were not suitably attired. One failing in particular was to wear trainers and expect to be granted entry into the nightclub - a bouncer would cuff your ear and tell you to get lost. This, naturally, brought your fun-packed evening to a standstill and also upset the dynamic of your group somewhat. So, the nifty idea created by the boy-men of Ipswich was to cover your white trainers over with a black sock; either your own or your pal's. This swift and stealth like operation would no doubt be implemented around the corner from the nightclub to optimise the facade. Most bouncers would not notice this, apparently. This mesmerised me. It mesmerised me for a couple of reasons: 1. A bouncer does not notice that a man's feet are covered in black Slazenger fleece 2. I didn't realise that any club in Ipswich was worthy of this effort 3. The casualness with which the gents at our table last night recounted the story (and mutually nodded with agreement) as if it was a totally normal thing to do.  What a neat trick and certainly one to tell our offspring one day.
6. A nice part about going out with long-term friends is that they remember stuff about your past and the people in it. If this case, my OH's old school friends recounted some really nice stories about OH's parents. It was lovely to hear. If you are reading Tel, the Marathon Medal in Assembly talk was well recalled and favoured. It bought a little tear to my eye to be honest.
7. In a not very proud moment of self-indulgence, I walked (supposedly to my Corona-fuelled brain) in a rather sultry manner through a packed pub to the ladies room. I'm such a dickhead. I don't know why I do this and who the hell I think I am. Anyway, karma had her wicked way and I walked straight into the corner of a fruit machine and looked a prat in front of everyone. Plank.

Tuesday, 26 August 2014

Today's observations 26.08.14

1. We've just returned from a camping trip with the kids. It was our first time in the tent. It was fairly endearing in the sense that you only realise the meaning of family when you are all together as one little unit. The true meaning is stress and hassle. That's the true meaning.
2. We camped in Norfolk. Norfolk is a funny one. It has some good qualities: cheap housing, fine countryside, seals and lots of camp sites to choose from. It has other attributes that have made me want to weep recently that I will come onto very shortly. We camped in a small site next to Banham Zoo. It should have worked. We have a massive tent, all the cooking gear, fairly rough and ready children and ourselves, who are not afraid of getting hands dirty. We had two factors against us; a. Norfolk rules - this is my fault and I take full responsibility for taking our holiday to East Anglia's inferior county and b. The Great British Weather- this upset me the most. The weather is supposed to be sporadic in the UK - we expect it to taunt and tease us with a will-she, won't-she and dangle the BBQ/excursion/wedding day carrot with impish glee. I did expect some cloudy rain teasers. I didn't expect it to piss down for 3days. This upset me most greatly.
3. I can't bring myself to talk about Norfolk yet. That will come later.
4. There was a pub near the camp site. As the camp site offered just two facilities (toilet and adjacent zoo), we had to go to the pub lots to get dry, try to be happy, make it feel like a holiday and palm children onto someone else. This pub was excellent: it was clearly built in someone's living room and it resembled an intoxicated elderly home. It had a pub cat called Sep (someone else's problem- how witty!!) who provided the kids with the only entertainment possible (apart from the coin-operated-turn-cog-thing Minstrels machine which was rather dated if the colour of the Minstrels were anything to go by). The inevitable point came when the cat went to get his dinner which upset my children most profusely: the Balderdash! didn't look too appealing and the poor stinky moggy was the only means of solice for my toddlers.
5. For the first time, my son put his finger up an animal anus. On purpose. Sep pivoted around to get some sugar from my daughter and Tom spotted the cat's arsehole, into which he stabbed with his finger, made entry, then withdrew with such fright that I doubt he will do it again. Sep remained nonplussed (pussed) about the assault.
6. When you are in a tent with no electricity or anything very fun and it's raining outside you become really entertainment-reliant on the radio. It was on for the duration of the trip. We tuned into a local station called Radio Partridge or something. It was alright, but the requests bit was worth a mention. People in Norfolk only know the first few words of any given song. Rod (& Angie; Rod's sister-wife) from Wymondham requested "I wanna Dance" by Whitney Houston, Mick wanted "I'm Walking" by Katrina and The Waves (as a witty attribute to the relentless rain...arf arf) and Maureen quite fancied "Give me all" by ZZ Top. This was fun, like Guess the Song in the Field.
7. I has to chuck away my shoes when I returned home. They are pretend Birkenstock type sandals and they remained cold and wet for the whole weekend.
8. We did the same thing as we did every time we take the kids away. I pack totally inappropriate clothes and we have to go and buy lots more. Tescos in Diss robbed us of new fleeces, trousers and wooly socks; as I had the brazen audacity to only pack summer clothes.
9. The "how strong is your bladder" challenge continues. This time, the 3:12am wake in the freezing tent and your Shiraz wants to make an entrance. There's not a chance in (Norfolk) hell that it can wait until you get up (5:45am) so you have to brave it. I can never get out of the tent in the dark and one of the kids has hidden the torch. I'm not bloody happy. My hair gets caught in the zip on exiting the tent and my frigging shoes are wet and cold.
10. A neighbouring tent stayed up til around 11pm on the first night to talk rather flatly, about bacteria and chopping boards. They weren't local: from Colchester or Chelmsford or *saink*.
11. Calculate the time, in years or months, that you have been frequenting pubs on a regular basis. Now, try to gauge what time they usually open. That's fairly simple, now chuck in a couple of variable factors: it's Bank Holiday Monday and most people aren't at work. Right. Now add the location of "Norfolk" into the mix. That causes some uncertainty, but nonetheless, should still provide the majority with a rough idea of when a pub will open.
The second part: take your age and divide it by the number of wheely bins on your drive. Add the amount of times you've lost your keys and subtract the number of TVs you have in your house. The remaining number is what time Norfolk pubs open for trade.
12. Our tent pitch was located 18metres from the perimeter fence of Banham Zoo. It directly faced the "Australian Maned Wolf" enclosure. This meant that the foxy menace woke us each morning with a grunty snorty howl. This had some novelty value; both Diego and Luna were very close to where we slept our soft sleepy heads. In fact, on visiting the zoo on day 2, we could see our tent through the trees at the back of the wolves den. This added another gripe: we tolerate our shitting weather because the Northern Hemisphere is reliably unpredictable and crap in climate but relatively light in wildlife that will kill you. So now, not only were we camping in a soupy bog but also ran the risk of being chewed by an Ozzie predator who jumped the fence in attempt to escape their Norfolk nausea.
13. It was really nice, on the first day, sitting outside whilst OH cooked us tea on the stove and watching the kids eat tinned hotdogs on the picnic mat. That's the bit I'll remember.
14. Pillows always feel *wet* in a tent, eh!!
15. The camp site did have a "function room" that was closed; because August bank holiday weekend is not expected to be busy. Humph.
16. It also had a reception which didn't open much either so we were unable to collect some leaflets on what to do in Cambridgeshire and Suffolk.

Sunday, 17 August 2014

Today's observations 17.08.14

1. Today's obs are mostly about BBQ functions. I'll start with kindly asking food-queuers to consider the needs of the person in the queue behind them. Once it's your turn to spoon coleslaw onto your plate or grab a rib, don't use this golden time to read the ketchup bottle or inspect the food debris on the serving spoon. You're On! This is your time! I'm after you! Hurry the fuck up!
2. I've found that, as the person who is *next* in the queue- behind the hapless twit who has decided to really take his bloody time- then you can try boring holes into the dawdler's back with your laser eyes. You have to concentrate really hard. It helps to grip your paper plate hard too. It makes no difference to the prat's serving speed, but at least it passes the time.
3. Another method of getting the snail to speed up is to stand really close to them.
4. There is a rule that some people insist on not conforming to. Whilst food queuing, you are not authorised to pour a drink too. It wastes time. Get one later.
5. Another rule; when there is a stack of paper plates for guests to take and use, do not pile all your food onto the top plate whilst it's still on the stack. That's just fucking rude. I can knock that burger off in one fail swoop, moron.
6. Let's assume that the average property boasts an area of 100ft squared. Just for the sake of argument. At your average BBQ, 90% of the guests congregate in 10% of the property's floor space. Usually this is by the door to the room that holds the food.
7. Can't find the children? They are either in one of two places: a. Playing on steps. Just walking up and down them in a dippy trance. They are most fun, these steps. And it's the most inconvenient place for me to hang around, so I shall stay here and get under everyone's drunk feet. B. They are in the toy box that the host has tried to hide to eliminate bickering opportunities. They've found it. And now there are 8toddlers trying to share 4balls and they are all *waaah-ing* in sync.
8. It's always surprising and slightly awe-inspiring to witness how much meat a BBQ-dwelling man can consume. And how quick they can do it.
9. It's the men that take the longest in the food-queue; this is because they are assembling their burger like it's been nominated for an award. They do it with precision and care. See number 10.
10. "How hot is this sauce?"
"It's quite hot."
"How hot though?"
"I found it a bit too hot."
"How hot is hot though?"
"Yeah, it's quite hot. Try some."
"I dunno. Looks too hot".
"Yeah, it's quite hot".

Friday, 1 August 2014

Today's observations 01.08.2014

1. Felt pen sharing etiquette. There is certainly an unwritten rule in our house that all the pinks, reds, purples and blues are property exclusively of the girl. All the blacks, browns, greys and the dried up yellows are the sole property of the boy.
2. I've been feeling a bit miserable today. Fellow parents who stay at home with children regularly will be familiar with this feeling. It's a bit monotonous and draining and they are at an age where they have to engage me in every single little action that they implement. It takes, personally, just a few things to drag me out of this smothering fug of whinge and tension: a. Spending money b. Beer c. Booking a holiday. Fellow readers: never underestimate the tediousness and relative difficulty of being the main caregiver to the kids. I've done some tricky stuff but this mofo is *hard*.
3. Honestly, it took 10mins to write that last post as my daughter keeps sneaking off, against orders to urinate in the garden when there is a perfectly functional toilet in the house.
4. On a brighter note, my youngest child is beating the shit out of our only garden tree with a purple diamente washing up brush.
5. We have a cardboard self-erect castle in our garden at the mo. It's one that you unfold, stand up in the garden and colour in with an assortment of felt pens. Said castle is notably now pink, purple and red due to Annie's vivid collection of colours with the old dash of dried up yellow from  the brother. Annie is trying to stand up this cardboard castle whilst it's a little windy. I have to admire her patience. What's worse is that whilst she is tackling the relative gale against the flimsy tower, her brother is trying to open the door of the castle and crawl through it whist Annie is still trying to suspend it off the floor.

6. You can tell the GDP of any given council estate by what ice creams are still left in the freezer at the co-op. The glanced-over fare at the Hawthorn Drive Co-operative lists currently as Magnum Champagne, Magnum Mint, Magnum white, Cornetto KingKong (or something) and a random few tubs of Roddas Clotted Cream Vanilla. No bugger from Chantry wants them. There was one solitary Mini Milk left, much to our joy, however it had already been opened and upon inspection of the wrapper perforation, it was opened with a child's mouth.
7. Both children are now in the castle but Tom is getting on Annie's nerves with his blatant disregard for the relative delicacy of the svelte walls. And he keeps tripping over the washing up brush that he has taken inside with him, making him fall into the walls and tipping the whole fortress over.
8. They are right what they say. Time does go quicker with age.




Monday, 23 June 2014

Today's observations 23.06.14

1. We've just returned from the "Elite Holiday Villa". Most of my "Today's observations" are actually about our jolly to Hunstanton.
2. When it comes to kid's holidays, weather is king. You are simply not allowed to sit in the pub all day when you have eager sponge-minded children with you. It's not really acceptable, or even practical, to sit in a non-licensed venue (caravan, tent, QD) with them all day either. It really pays for your children to get out in the fresh air; with a bit of luck and cunning planning, they'll find another family to adopt. This chance is maximised by loitering near another family (or a childless couple!) who own a dog, a remote control gadget or a type of mechanical apparatus. If the new family (or couple!) don't do anything weird or religious with your precious offspring within 5-7mins, then they are consequently fair game to be left with the kids for the afternoon whilst you and the old man head off down "The Sundowner's Lounge" to partake in the most excellent promotion of BOGOF Sol.
3. I read Russell Brand's Booky Wook on holiday. It made me most enlightened to a few things; all of which spurred a fairish and comforting relief in myself. Amongst these things: he writes great and despite slandering his education (or contribution hereto), his vocabulary and prose is actually mesmerising. Also, you will never again feel guilty for your weekly 10 Marlboro Lights or the bottle-and-a-half of Sauvignon that you drank on most nights of your Norfolk jolly. You cannot feel guilty for this when Brand's consumption of the most alien and exotic of drink, drug and solvent stuffs to such extreme measures over such a long space of time has rendered him, nevertheless, a successful and profound bloke. One more thing: his writing style makes you want to say "parody", "cock-spurring" and "saucy!" a lot.
5. It's the right thing to do on holiday; relax. Most people do this. It's average and normal. Lots of folk like to sit and just chill out. Watch the world go by. Admire the view. Take a deep breath and soak up the scenario and the seaside vibe. Smell the chippy air and soak up the Whippy. I'm not very good at this. I do try to sit down. But it seems like we are waiting for something. And I get angsty. Like, what are we *actually going to do now?*. How long do we plan on sitting down, then? You know, just a ball park timeframe? Shall I go to the toilet now or after we've finished relaxing? Shall I take my shoes off? Would it be ok to do this in the pub with a drink in hand?
6. Perhaps I need to take some relaxing drugs like Brand.
7. It was a nice parenting moment. My kids, for the first time, went to a children's entertainment show in the clubhouse of the caravan site. Basically, of those of you who don't know (I bet everyone knows this), the prologue of the night's respective cabaret, magician, comedian  etc is a group of young adults from Cork, Hull, Leicester and Hull who try to entertain the kids whilst up on stage, waving their arms around, investing in dance routines, and talking "a lit-le bit like *this!!"the kids love it.  I remember it as a kid too (Although i don't remember liking it much, nor being able to really see much through the Silk-Cut fug). Anyway, my kids were great. They teetered up to the dance floor, fiercely holding each other's hands for moral support (or to establish their gang colours and territory, perhaps) and sat down. My oldest, who is 3, systematically rubbed her little brother's back for comfort and reassuring him that she wasn't leaving without him. I was overwhelmingly proud of her maternal instinct. I was disproportionately overjoyed and choked at my son's terrific behaviour. They had a flappy clappy dance with the "Sunshine crew" and tried to win me over for the adult dance. I did it of course, but only because I was a bit pished and had a nice top on.
8. When announcing the start of the adult dance, one of the "Sunshine Crew" told the kids that if mum and dad didn't want to dance it meant that they didn't love you anymore. I can see how the guy was trying to be funny. It was a good attempt at some "nudge-nudge ain't I a Joker!" humour but I didn't think hit the spot to be honest. Perhaps I am a little overprotective of what my pre-schoolers hear due to humour being generally a little lost on their SpongeBob minds at the moment and heaven forbid, they might've believed that dipshit Sunshine Stu.
9. The following night, my kids were cutting some shapes on the dancefloor again. My daughter excellent particularly, and her moves were most likely visually improved by the fact that her dance partner brother, didn't move at all and just stood, even through Carly Rae Jensen's "Call me Maybe" (a fav of mine) and stared at the stage with big eyes. His sister, although seriously digging her own moves, didn't move from his side and tried on several occasions to get him to participate by pushing her own face really close to his and stroking his back again. Another couple of kids started dancing nicely nearby and Annie grooved her way over and did some rather fantastic jazz hands whilst nodding her head like that fat-insurance-dog-car-toy. The other kids were accompanied by their adults and looked to them for reassurance that they could dance over to mine. These adults didn't know that we were sat right next to the dance floor and were in ear shot of them. I was a little surprised to hear (or watch her mouth - perhaps a combination of the two) that these kids there are travelling children. I think she meant mine! Oh dear.
10. I'm a little ashamed to admit that I bowed to the pressure and tried to indirectly assert my non Romany roots. I swiftly sashayed over to my gyrating daughter and statue rock-son and spoke to the kids in my absolutely dripping with regality Sloaney (and very made-up) voice *very loudly* so that the bitch knew I actually had a fixed abode. I said something wanky and unnecessary like "Do come on feather-britches, our Quail's Eggs are almost certainly al dente!" or "Bumpfy, darrrlling! Mummy would really like to to finish off your Almond Milk *before* you start your crevettes".
11. Of course, and entirely accurate retort to the (unfair!) accusation would have been "Annie, Mum has got a little tiddly and probably heard that woman totally incorrectly and has managed to actually piss herself off".
12. The following night, the "Sunshine Crew" brought out their mascot to cheer up the kids, who were no doubt a bit bored of Stu and Siobhan and their crappy dance moves, which were actually way too difficult for the kids to mimick. The mascot was a Seal called, actually, it might not have had a name. Shoddy. Anyway, he for sure *did* have mixamatosis or had previously had an unsuccessful run-in with a boat propellor.
13. A 7-seater hire car has no regard for the sheer amount of luggage that my aunty has to take with her for a 3-day holiday.
14. Our own car feels a bit shit now. Like a go-kart.