Angela's Bum Deal

Angela

The Snake Pass runs from Sheffield to Glossop.  Or Glossop to Sheffield, depending which way you come from. Please yourself.  It's a lonely, bleak place, particularly in the dark. There are no lights, no paths and a steep drop on one side.  In stormy weather it can be very scary.  Very Lorna Doone. On one such night, with the rain lashing down, me and My Man were driving home from No1 Son's in Sheffield, when suddenly My Man shouted, 'what the fuck is she doing?' 'Who?', I asked. My Man had just seen a woman standing in a passing place on the opposite side of the road. 'Turn round then’, I shouted, ' we can't leave her there'. So My Man turned the car and drove back to where the woman was stood. She had scraggy, dyed blonde hair, thick make-up, bright red lipstick. Her clothes, a thin pink jacket, flowered leggings, sandals on her feet, were of no protection in such bad weather. She was soaking wet and looked frozen to death but she was smiling! I couldn't see what there was to smile about. 'What the hell are you doing out there?' I asked in a very matronly way and not expecting the reply.

'Me boyfriend chucked me out of the car and told me to make my way to Sheffield then get a train home to Nottingham. He gave me £2.53 for the train fare'.

First things first. Let’s get her into the car but that turned into a farce all of itself. The old Renault 5 was tiny, not to say falling apart, and this lady was, well, a bit of a lard-arse. The Renault only had two doors so I had to stand outside while the lady tried to climb into the back. One way, then about turn, then forward, then backward. It got more and more ridiculous and I was getting wetter, colder and ever so slightly exasperated so in the end I did the only thing left for me to do, I place my hands on her ample backside (thank god I didn’t know then what I found out eventually, oh barff) and gave her a hard shove. Yaye! She was in and off we went.

I began the interrogation. Her name was Angela and she had spent the week-end with her boyfriend in Manchester with friends. They were on their way home to Nottingham when they had a massive row. ‘What about?’ He was angry with her 'cos she wouldn't join him for a smoke. A ganja sort of smoke!  He'd stopped the car, told her to get out and make her own way home. Then he drove off leaving her miles from anywhere safe in that scary place all alone with £2.53!! He drove off to his home in Nottingham.  The home he shared with Angela which was the home that was registered in her name. Aargh! What can you say to someone in that position? Can you believe it?

We were stunned to say the least and thought we'd take her back to her friends in Manchester, after all, at times like this you need your friends around you. It was while I was giving Angela advice on how to deal with this boyfriend that I noticed a smell. A really bad smell. A poo smell. A great big poo smell.

Instead of taking Angela to Manchester where, had we thought about it, we’d never have found these friends and it was so late and we were tired and……….oh the smell, the smell and I’d squashed…. oh I can’t even say it…….we thought it best to take her to the nearest police station and let them do the necessary.

I have to add here the bobbies didn’t seem too pleased to have to do the necessary but I didn't care and at least she was safe.

Have You Weed Your Bed?

Have You Weed Your Bed?

In about 1986 I was strolling back to the office, from watching a ladies football match as it ‘appens, when I came upon what I believe was my first four-leaf clover find. Yippee! How lucky was I? I was over the moon because whenever walking through clover my eyes would be down, seeking that exclusive elusive but without success. And I haven’t found one since. Yesterday was a prime example. I’d gone to our local heath, forever rampant with clover, with Bo the Dog and My Husband for the first time in ages and after 40 minutes of eye-ache and heartache I, yet again, gave up the search. Why am I so unlucky, I don’t understand? Could it be because I don’t have that exclusive elusive? Hahaha.

I thought I was so lucky to have found that one and only exclusive elusive that when a colleague asked if she could have it I gave it to her willingly. Sharing the luck you see. Hmmmm, I must have been soft as she was probably the most unlikeable woman in the office. In fact, she was pretty horrible to most about most and had absolutely screamed with laughter when she heard what my younger brother’s name was. How rude. And guess what? Her toes pointed in the wrong direction as did her nose, so yah boo to her.

I’ve just found out you can buy a four-leaf clover off Ebay!!!!! Check this out if you don’t believe me: http://www.ebay.co.uk/itm/4-FOUR-LEAF-CLOVER-GENUINE-REAL-GOOD-LUCK-CHARM-WEDDING-FAVOUR-GOOD-LUCK-SPELL-/200964099728?pt=UK_Home_Garden_Celebrations_Occasions_ET&hash=item2eca64ce90

Not only can you buy a four-leaf but also a five and six-leaf. Would you pay for one? Yeh, it may save all that searching but it can’t be right, can it? And how come this ebayer has a never-ending supply of ‘wild’ ones when I’ve only found one in 25yrs? Don’t believe it. Bah bloody bah!

Weird how all these old wives tales survive, hah, or perhaps not, if like me you’re an old wife. Take the dandelion. I grew up thinking if you picked a dandelion you wet the bed. Now where did that come from? I don’t remember ever wetting the bed, but there again would I have dared to pick dandelions if I thought they’d make me wet the bed? I’ve just thought of that old children’s programme Bill and Ben and their girlfriend Little Weed who was a dandelion, ‘Little Weed, Little Weed’ she’d squeak. There’s got to be something in that. And don’t get me started on carrots! That’s one old wives tale I can quickly debunk. Listen, you do not go blind if you don’t eat them when you’re little and they do not help you see in the dark! Buy a torch. I know of another tale about going blind but that’s for the boys room and for the boys to debunk ;) .

There’s a scary plant of which I can’t remember the correct name. It’s tall, covered in tiny creamy white flowers and grows along the hedgerows and canal banks in abundance. There are two that look alike but the one I’m thinking of STINKS! I’ve always called it Mother’s Die and yes, if you picked any your mother would die! How bad is that?  And thinking about it, who told me? Anyway, of course that attracted me and my friends even more, after all it was dangerous and didn’t we live for danger? That must be fairly obvious by my hunts for a four-leaf clover. Anyway he who dares, nothing gained nothing lost and all that, so once, and only once did I dare to pick a stem, immediately feeling an urgent need to run home and check My Mother was still there to cook and serve. Of course she was. Phew, what a relief. But what sort of child was I? Bad girl.

And whatever happened to lawns covered in tiny daisies? We’ve let the top end of ours grow wild and at the beginning of June it looked glorious with campion, bluebells (of the Spanish variety with apologies to gardeners out there), grape hyacinth, buttercups and pretty grasses. See, I can talk proper stuff J. But there are never, ever any daisies to be seen, even transplanting a few from other lawns hasn’t worked (likewise with cowslip). When I do see any I can’t help bursting into that fabulous Doris Day song we all know and love, ‘Please, please, don’t eat the daisies, don’t eat the daisies, please, please’ which, they being the only words I know, could possibly sound a trifle tedious to those unfortunates who maybe within earshot. I lurrve DD but I have to point out she’s a helluva lot older (by quite a few decades, I would say) than me……………………. others would add she can sing a helluva lot better. Debateable methinks, though My Mother used to tell me to stop laughing. Why? Because I didn’t laugh like a lady, I cackled. Like a hen. 

Oh the memories. When No1 Son and Daughter were little we used to sit on The Gran's front lawn making necklaces and bracelets and tiaras out of daisy chains. Hahaha, for both of them and they both loved it. Didn’t they both  ;)  look pretty little garden fairies? Sarnies, squash, sun and daisies………. and my singing, what more could a child want? Never see that happening nowadays, maybe it’s because the sun always shone then. Oh the memories.

So, between wetting the bed and ma kicking the bucket the choice is yours. Take your pick!

I dare you.

FYI: Little brother's name is

Plane Sailing

Plane Sailing

The phone in the accounts dept. was ringing. One of the girls answered.

' Good morning, accounts'.

Foreign voice, ' can I speak to Plane, please'.

' I'm sorry. I didn't catch that. Who did you want to speak to?'

'I want to speak to Plane'.

'Hang on, I'll get someone to speak to you'.

Another girl from accounts picked up the phone.

'Good morning. Accounts'

'Can I speak to Plane, please?'

'I'm sorry. I can't hear you properly'

'Please.  I want to speak to Plane'

'We don't have anyone called Plane here'.

'Plane, PLANE'.

'Just hold on'.

By now the whole department was at a standstill. Plane? They were laughing.  Indeed, some more than others. Pauline was even running up and down with her arms outstretched.  'Vroom, vroom, vrooom', she sang, what's my name? I'm called plane'. They laughed even more. Oh poor man. 'Pauline, you see if you can work out who he wants.'
  

'Hello. Can I help at all?, asked Pauline.

'Please, please, I really want to speak to a girl. Her name is Plane'.

Nope.  She didn't get it. She tried again. Again and again.

Oh dear,  she really was starting to feel very sorry for the guy but had to admit defeat and once more he was asked to hold on while someone who could help was found.  

She walked away telling the girls she couldn't help at all when suddenly, ' OH HELL ! ',  and clasping her hand to her mouth, her face turning the colour of Rimmel Luscious Red lipstick,  she remembered the gorgeous Filipino she'd met the week before. Plane. Pauline !. Soooooo embarrassing. It took quite a while to live that one down. Vroom, vroom, vroom,  they sang, what's her name? She's called Plane'. 

The Foox

The FOOX

We were at Booth’s supermarket and there I was sat waiting for My Man and My Daughter to finish paying at the till. I’d two cardboard boxes with me for reasons I cannot remember but I do remember the killing time disease so I put my mind to thinking up other uses the boxes could be put to.

Ah yes – slippers!

I shoved my feet in the boxes and made my way over to My Man and My Daughter. Readers, it was not easy. I had to shuffle, shuffle, shuffle, as the boxes were way too big for my size 6’s. I can’t say if Man and Daughter noticed, they just walked beside me and off we headed to the exit.  I made it as far as the shop doors where even I wasn’t brave enough to tackle the steps. Good grief, they were as high as an elephant’s eye.

Anyway, not one to let an elephant’s eye spoil the fun I set about thinking out of the box (boom boom) and came up with this surprisingly simple and cheap idea for a foot-box and I’m calling them  

         

FOOX

Materials needed:- (Picture A)

Two thick, long socks or old, worn out shoes, slippers or flip-flops. Please do NOT try this with high heels (Picture B) or heavy boots as this would undoubtedly result in an accident. 

                                                                                                    

Extra-strong glue

Two thick cardboard boxes about a size bigger than your shoe size and as high as knees if possible (for extra warmth in a draughty house)

Picture A

Picture B

The Method .............in my madness

As my boxes were to be decorated I thought I'd make it easier on myself in working out which went on which foot by writing  L (for Left) and R (for right) on each one (picture C).

Picture C

1    
c        Cover the sole of your sock or shoe with a good amount of the extra-strong glue. If using socks, you should consider whether this would be better done wearing them. Please ensure none of the glue gets onto your bare skin as this could result in injury. Also, if wearing a sock I would suggest lining it with foil or card first but whichever you decide on, I  do advise you to wear safety gear such as gloves, goggles and a pinafore. My very able Technical Assistant always ensures he is suitably attired (picture D).

 
      Picture D

2
Now you need to put pressure on the sock/shoe to attach it to the box. I  used the ‘wearing shoe way’ as with my weight there is a much better chance of getting a really firm grip however, you could use something heavy like a brick, for example.

   

3    Repeat the above for the second sock/shoe.

      Ta dah! There you have it.  Two warm FOOX! (Picture F). Enjoy!
  
      Picture F

5    For a touch of individuality you could paint and decorate the FOOX with your own design  for example, your name or a picture of your favourite pop-star or shells.

And here’s my take on the FOOX! What do you think?

A BOXHED

Another time, same place, same My Man and me, same waiting game but only one cardboard box in hand. What can I do with this one? Hmmm, let me think.

A ready-made head cover. A BOXHED, yaye, perffick and it fitted. Yes, my head was in a box and as I couldn’t see a thing Mark had to guide me. All the way home, along the main roads, over hill and across dale. Had it been winter, I think it would have come into its own (telly speak). Suffering codfish, it was HOT in that thar box (picture A).

Picture A

Have a go, it’s so easy to make and practically free. All you need to do is to cut out peepholes and a mouthhole so you don’t always have to rely on a companion to guide you .

Now for the fun bit. Why not decorate your fabulous BOXHED?  Use whatever you have available in your craft box - I had some printed sheets of photo's of gin bottles handy and I used our plastic picnic glasses to add a touch of class. Of course, if it is raining I just cover the glasses with cling film. Can't have them filling up with the wrong kind of liquid, can we? Finish off, preferably inside and out, with a coat of pva glue or better still polyurethane, which should be matte of course for style and Bob’s yer uncle, and quite possibly, Sally’s yer aunt.  Now you have a warm, windproof,  waterproof  BOXHED. 

A cheap yet elegant and, in my humble opinion, superior addition to your winter wardrobe.

Just look at this!

Rather than emailing me (although emails are welcome) please sign up to google .......yeh, sorry, I know it's a bit of a pain but it only takes a minute and I really do want to hear what  you think. Even the 'no comment' from Anonymous had me interested.................. for all of the time it took to read :)