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Aug 4

Accessory to Murder

Posted on Friday, August 4, 2017 in Family, Rantings

I am a dog person. Not a cat person.

However due to endless pressure from Puppychild to get a cat (after our pet rats died), I caved. We now have a cat named TROUBLE.

Apologies for the video icons… Trouble never stays still.

Puppychild is heard regularly

outside calling for the cat, passers by ask her if she’s okay.

“I’m looking for trouble.”

“Uh… Okay, good luck kid!”

He’s aptly named.

This evening it brought a live field-mouse to my doorstep and had an epic battle with it. In the effort to shoo the cat away I accidentally stepped on the mouse.

The crunch. It’s the sort of sound that reverberates through your soul itself, the sickening instant mental image of brains exploding through cute little mouse ears, the slight squelch of delicate little organs oozing under my foot. Like stepping on a snail, that feeling of taking a life and having goo on your shoo.

The mouse convulsed for a few seconds and passed away. The cat gave me a look, I swear it fucking winked at me. Then it tucked in to the carcass, more crunching of bones and skull and organs… squishy noises.

I’m an accessory to murder.

I dislike cats.

No I’m not okay hun.

Apr 30

accurate puke

Posted on Sunday, April 30, 2017 in Family, Strange and Unusual

Wow! Four months since I last posted. I’m beginning to think that I’m on a different planet, orbiting everybody else at a different rate compared to most people. Children grow at a faster rate than I can grab a hold of. The extra life stuff that is supposed to keep me mentally healthy, the voluntary groups… friends… in my head everything happened yesterday but according to man time it was ten years ago.

*interruption from small child #1, bear with me*

It still floats though. It’s still there. Like you, reading this. I appreciate that.

I’ve had a comical day.

My puppychild is off out camping with her scout team, in the mountains, somewhere. She’s almost 13 now. The fact that I can’t contact her hurts me both in my chest, but in my stomach too. She’ll be okay. She’s tough. I hope she got that from me. *interruption from small child #2… juice???*  She’s entering womanhood soon. I want to stuff her back up into my womb sometimes.

Laughingboy seems to have Chickenpox. A rake of spots arrived on his chest and abdomen this morning when I was changing his peg stoma, which is alarming but we’re *interruption from middle child #3… my tummy hurts* dealing with a very chilled out mother here until the chilled out mother stupidly went and consulted DR GOOGLE. People with compromised immune systems.. on bank holidays there is nobody there. Nobody at the end of the phone, I felt alone, helpless. Death before it’s begun. But there are pharmacists, and beautiful people whom I’ve rarely met on internet forums who listen. And give good advice. I love these people. Everything WILL BE OKAY. Silent scream.

Today it was also Sir Fartsalot’s 7th birthday party!!! They did trampoleenee stuff. He came home feeling sick. As you do.

He puked a bit onto his bed, I don’t mind that. I’m a domino vomiter though, like when you catch the smell of sour milk, or that gone-off *interruption from small child #4… mommy mommy mommy shhhhhhh* chicken dinner at the back of the fridge in the Tupperware container that you crack open and sends you gagging.

Give me an open abscess wound any day! Or blood, or faeces. I can deal with that. Just not vomit or decay.

Getting back to the point, Sir Fartsalot YELLED from the living room: “I have to get sick!!!”

My reaction was similar to that of some poor fucker who randomly had a tarantula placed on his forehead out of the random blue. “UP UP UP! FUCK THIS LARK OF CLEANING UP VOMIT OFF DUVETS AND CARPETS!! GET TO THE BATHROOM! DEPLOY ALL UNITS!”

The vomit machine.

He made it. There was prolific spewage. It came out of his nose, and almost came out of his eyeballs. I was so proud that he got everything into*interruption from child #5 mummy read me a story* the toilet bowl and the smell! The smell! I had to grin a lot. Fake grinning is a great way to suppress the gag reflex, this is also useful for the evil gick that is cat shit.

Then there’s the toddler. She’s all


all the way through all of this.

and there’s NOBODY TO HELP. BuT there iS my senSe of huM our.

I made my bed, and I shall lie in it. I wish I could be a cave woman with supportive mothers and aunties and cousins and sisters and I would never be alone, but that will never be again but at the same time my son would not be alive if it weren’t for modern technology, if only there could be an in-between. I found a good group to talk to though, in the dark times, you know who you are, you are my cavewomen. Thank you Splinters.

Thank you. And my DAD. ALWAYS MY DAD. HE MADE ME. WHO. I. AM. For better or worse. He worked hardest to make all of this. Sometimes when I find myself rocking in a corner I think of him and find my sense of humour again.

To everyone else in the internetosphere, these are that rantings of a woman who is close to the edge. I would love to meet myself as I was ten years ago and talk to her, and warn her, and hug her, and be her mother.

But I’m fine.

We’re fine.

It may be a while before I post again, though I really want to.

Bring wine.

I hope this explains why I don’t blog a lot. It’s all venting, normally my pillow gets it. But TOdaY it iS YoU.

And I will definitely regret this tomorrow.

Dec 15


Posted on Thursday, December 15, 2016 in Uncategorized

I have a friend who wants me to go scuba diving. He’s been at me for years to do this, to take the leap, as it were.

I am one of those people who dislikes water, I don’t trust it… or rather I should say, it frightens me, much like electricity. It has immense power that is far greater than me. Even covering my face with the full force of a power shower unnerves me sometimes.

A lot of people disagree, in my experience, but a lot also relate. My daughter is an experimenter so I don’t want to pass on my phobia but at the same time she has had opportunities to scuba dive and something within her said NO. I hope that’s not my fault.

It’s an atavistic topic. Like snakes and spiders.

Give me a beach, with raging waves, and good company and I’ll happily dive in, and immerse my face under fantastic bubbles and glowing amoeba and I’ll stay under and swim until the stars above call me back to reality… because I know I’m in control.

… but give me breathing apparatus and a clingy wetsuit and it’s a lot of NOPE.

I believe that natural or para-natural things should be respected.

Maybe I’m just getting sensible. When you grow older, and get married, you stop yearning for bungee jumping, for exploring, for diving, for flying aeroplanes. Maybe I’m too grounded, for good reason. My good friend is trying to get me out of this but he too is a father. I’m not sure where the boundaries are, anymore.

What would you do?


Dec 13


Posted on Tuesday, December 13, 2016 in Philosophy, Strange and Unusual

I am in my bed trying to think. But there are so many things to think about.

There are three dimensions, obviously length, depth, and height.

Then there’s the fourth, that’s time.

Time escapes me.

There’s the fifth though. Those questions that small children ask you about trying to find the end of a rainbow, that feeling you get when a person is off kilter. When you wake up and hear the rain pelting off your roof and you know someone out there needs you. That small smile or wink that a person gives you for no reason.

I don’t know what to do with that, but sure you can only do your best.

I’m asleep. I’m not writing this.

I’m asleep. Sometimes it feels like we all are sleeping, that we are only really awake when we open up to that strange fifth dimension. Notions. Dreams. Imagination.

Earlier today I got together with a group of friends and we played ‘Rizzla’… where you get cigarette roll papers and write the names of characters (real or fictional) and stick them onto the forehead of the person beside you. It’s an excellent game.

It’s also a good example of the fifth dimension. Every one of us was somehow able to read each other’s minds and guess the answer pretty quickly because we know each other so well. Like when a good friend of yours can finish your senten…..


Sep 10

It’s been a while…

Posted on Saturday, September 10, 2016 in Family, Quickie

…since my last confession.

I worked at a boxing match this evening and should probably be flaking on the couch watching television but it suddenly struck me that I should be talking to you instead.

I have thoughts about motherhood, the competitive nature that lies within. The jogging pants, the networking updates declaring achievements of marathon runs, of mummy college graduations and I must admit to feeling a bit inadequate, but that’s my problem, not theirs.

The school car park is where all of this happens. I used to stand amongst the other mummies waiting for our little snot-nosed characters to be released from the guard of their relentless underpaid teachers and we used to make small talk in the meantime. It was nice small talk, but it was superficial which was nice then, but now it’s more cackle than I can handle in my already overcrowded mind and besides, mummy groups are the straightest route into getting roped into things.

Now I sit in my car and pretend to listen to voice mails on my phone while doodling on the back of old diesel receipts, pretending to look busy. I play Candy Crush sometimes while trying very hard to maintain a serious expression. It’s quite sad, but it’s understandable.

Sometimes I do venture out, and hover outside the mummy groups. I laugh awkwardly and venture into their various circles but I don’t belong. I resort to retorts about the weather, I compliment their babes in arms, they compliment mine. Then we all go home.

I wonder sometimes if other mothers feel like me, if they have a boundary, if they’re lonely in spite of loud obvious laughter, in spite of the jogging clothes. Maybe we’re all the same, underneath.


Jun 13

18% lesbian

Posted on Monday, June 13, 2016 in Philosophy, Something to think about

This topic has cropped up once or twice while on duty. It’s not unusual for me to spend a great amount of hours trapped in the cabin of an ambulance with a male co-worker, but the beauty of this is that there are never awkward silences. We can enjoy silence in each other’s company without the need to talk, and I love that about this strange little family.

Occasionally though, especially during charity 10K runs, the male in my company will make lewd comments about ladies running past (boing! boing! boing!), and I will see him, and raise him an inappropriate comment. I love that they feel confident enough to do this in front of me, for I am not a feminist at all… IN FACT there was that beautiful conversation I had once with a co-worker when I revealed to him that I am in fact 18% lesbian.

This baffled him.

He wondered how I had such a precise figure. So I explained:

(And I highly recommend that you do the same for it is very liberating)

All you need to do is take the attractive aspects that you find in both males and females, add them up, then divide one into the other. Every figure is different for everybody but I assure you that NONE OF US is 100% heterosexual.

In my opinion…

MEN have penises. That’s fucking handy, if you’ll excuse the pun. They also wear army uniforms very well. If they’re wearing army uniforms and driving a truck that’s double points. I like men’s hands, when they’re well defined and the veins are obvious (this might be an EMT fetish). I like it when men run. I love the shape of the back of a man’s neck. I love men who wear work clothes and smell sweaty, I love a man’s sense of humour. I love that you can say inappropriate things to a man and he can tell very awkward jokes by return without anyone getting offended. I love that they go off on a waffle conversation and don’t really care whether you’re interested or not. I love that they are very easily offended when you try to criticize them about their fire lighting techniques. I love beards, or at least a mis-shaven chin. I love pictures of men with tiny babies, that small window of tenderness just hits me at the core.

but then…

WOMEN have beautiful hips! I have a friend who has beautiful enormous thighs, they make her walk in a fashion that is hugely sexy in my opinion even though she is constantly aware of her figure and is always dieting. I would love to tell her that I think she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, and that if she was ever thinking of having a threesome I would absolutely volunteer. I can’t describe her hips to you in real words. They just make me melt. I want to bite them. Women with intelligence are so entirely sexy for me too, I know a teacher who dresses in Victorian style clothing a lot, she’s in her late 50’s and has long flowing grey hair. She doesn’t have big hips, but her brain is abundant and she has the air of an alien who has great wisdom and is only just visiting this planet for the first time. I would not be very quick to turn her away from a naked brandy by the fireplace I tells you.


This is just a quick explanation of my own tastes. And, like I say, once you divide one number into the other, you get a percentage.

lady erection

I am proud to be 18% lesbian.

I challenge you to be open with yourself and accept your percentage. What ratio do you end up with?


May 21

Roughing it

Posted on Saturday, May 21, 2016 in Strange and Unusual

I would normally be a shopper at those places where everything is extremely cheap and nobody is around to help you, things are stacked awkwardly so that you have to reach right to the very back for un-damaged products, and the queues are enormous.

But, occasionally I nip into the posh supermarkets where everybody is nice to you and they pack your bags and tell you to have a lovely day. I pay more for this, but often the entertainment in itself is worth the difference.

You see, these boring cheap supermarkets are full of drones, people who don’t look at each other, they are there to get in, do their business and get out. I’m one of them.

BUT the posh supermarkets have their perks.

There’s Thai Bride Thursday… lots of elderly gentlemen with young Thai ladies making cow eyes at each other over packets of noodles. That’s sweet.

On Wednesday I went to get a few ingredients for a birthday cake in said posh supermarket. Somebody greeted me at the door, which unnerved me for a start. Then, when I was in the dairy section I overheard a lady speaking loudly on her phone about cottage cheese, I lingered for a while as it seemed like an interesting conversation, then I wandered away.

I caught up with the same lady a few aisles later, she was talking about how sea salt is so much better for you than normal salt. Again, I lingered and eavesdropped, I was learning a lot.

Then I glanced at this lady, and realised that she wasn’t having a phone conversation at all, she was talking to herself.

She continued this (I have to admit to stalking her for a while because I had nothing better to do and she was obviously having a very intelligent conversation with herself) for the next two aisles, until we got to the tea section. She became very excited then and began answering herself back:

“I know! I know! Milk Thistle is SO good for your liver apparently!” she told herself out loud.

At this point I wondered if she didn’t have a Bluetooth device of some sort so I had to circle her a bit. That was a bit creepy of me but I wanted to be sure, interrupting a phone conversation is pretty simple etiquette, but interrupting a conversation with one’s own self is a bit more complicated.


“Excuse me?” I ventured.

“Yes hold on!” She smiled at me and paused for a few seconds, looking at me. I wasn’t sure who she was saying ‘hold on’ to so I went ahead anyway.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but you seem to know a lot about these teas, can you tell me which one would be good for a coffee substitute to wake a person up in the morning?”

She then became very enthusiastic and picked out a Lemon and Ginger tea for me that has hence done the job brilliantly. We both went on our separate ways, after she booped my baby’s nose and went on with her conversation.

I didn’t see her at the check-out queue.

I wonder if she was just a figment of my imagination.


Apr 4

It’s been four years since your last confession…

Posted on Monday, April 4, 2016 in Jobs, Strange and Unusual, Taboo

… is what the bloke behind the counter said when I scanned my blood donation card. He wore a poker face, I could tell he had cracked this joke many times before. I giggled, and ran with it.

“Well, nobody can resist those cocaine parties, I’m a sucker for those!”

He didn’t flinch.

“No, seriously though, I’ve got a few babies under my belt since I last visited.” I meandered and mumbled the last bit, he eyeballed me and sent me onwards, but I could’ve sworn he winked as he did so.

At the next station, after filling out all the paperwork and ticking all the boxes, I met a very bored nurse who insisted on asking the full lot of 50 questions all over again even though I’d just filled in the form 5 minutes before.

“Have you ever been employed in the handling of monkeys?” she asked. (I’d ticked ‘no’.)

“No” I replied, “but I live with a few.” She gave me the BDI.

“If you are a man, have you ever engaged in sexual intercourse with another man?” she asked.

“Hold on,” I retorted, “what are you trying to imply?” She smiled and explained the force of habit, and we had a brief discussion about gender equality. Apparently not everybody knows who Caitlin Jenner is.

I passed the tests and quizzes and signed things a lot, then finally I was told that I was allowed to give blood. I was very relieved about this, as sometimes I suffer from low blood iron levels so tend to be refused frequently. In the case that I may have been refused, the Accidental Terrorist had supplied me with a long shopping list to organise afterwards, and in my opinion, having a nurse stab you with a large gauge needle and sap a whole pint of blood out of you is FAR preferable to going shopping.

They stabbed me in the right arm, and the vein collapsed pretty much straight away. There was much apologising which seems silly as it’s not their fault, my circulatory system often seems to have a mind of its own. They removed the needle, and asked me to put pressure on the bleed with my opposite hand, which I did.

Then they took blood from the other arm which all went swimmingly, as was my head as I walked away and stole several packets of crisps, pencils and bumper stickers on the way out.

Today I woke up to find this image embedded on my inner elbow:crotch


The imprint left by my index and middle finger, along with the needle mark itself doesn’t look unlike a person’s crotch and bellybutton.

I have porn on my arm now.


Apr 1

I forgot what I was going to say…

Posted on Friday, April 1, 2016 in Family, Quickie, Strange and Unusual

Easter Holidays are lovely. I get to not have to get up so early in the morning and I don’t have to make school lunches. Children just happen around the place randomly.

This time of year also means gardening.

There are weeds everywhere. I would rather stay inside either sleeping or doing laundry or some other haphazard sort of thing but the seeds are calling me, and there are bored children.


‘Here’s a shovel, lads.’

‘But I want to play Transformer Autobots!’

‘Yes, but there are worms underground that need to transform into motorbikes.’

‘How do they do that?’

‘You won’t know until you dig them up.’


Meanwhile the lady children weeded my garden while the young boys made mud pies and havoc. I wandered by later and sowed seeds.

It’s been that sort of day.

Mar 29

The savoury stage

Posted on Tuesday, March 29, 2016 in Family, Humourarse, munchies, Strange and Unusual

“no milk or sugar in your coffee? ARE YOU SURE?”

I’m not really sure I like coffee any more. It’s a morning ritual, sure, and I love it when Puppychild or the Accidental Terrorist lands me a cup of clean pure diluted granules on my bedside table every morning but usually I wind up enjoying the zephyr from it, then I go back to sleep. Microwaved re-heated coffee is nice though eventually. Is that old age setting in?

Easter though. All the chocolate.

The Terrorist brought me and a few friends out last week for dinner here in our local finer establishment. I did not wear silly shoes for it was an upstairs thing and decided to be sensible in my forethought. I ordered the cheeses for dessert much to the horror of my peers but they were good cheeses and it seemed fitting because everybody seems to concentrate on chocolate at this time of year and forget about the cheeses. I had wine too, because that’s what cheeses liked apparently.

There is a lot of chocolate here now, and wonderment as to why I don’t eat it. Because I’m a girl and that’s what girls are supposed to do, so they say. I just tell them all to shut up and make me a Tayto sandwich.

We didn’t do Mass this year. I fear that we’re entirely missing the point. Sigh.


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