Normal Service Resumed


Name that Tune: “Strip for me babe strip for you, strip for me, strip for me ‘cause I want you to” – Male Stripper, Man to Man meets Man Parrish

Movie Quote of the Day:
“When it gets hot like this, you know what I do? I keep my undies in the icebox!” The Seven Year Itch
It was my unofficial (but technically in the eyes of the law) official, wedding anniversary yesterday. (We had a Humanist ceremony in at The Moss a coup eof weeks later).

7 years since we took the 630 bus into Sadford, fairly formally attired & made with the 5 minute, almost a drive-thru marriage ceremony at the Registry Office. As Bman said at the time, “it was over so fast I felt like we should have got Happy Meal at the end of it.” Me, the Bman, my sis & her then bf giggling outside as the wedding before ours played 2 thirds of Gareth Gates’ album during their nuptials and the Bridesmaids trooped out of the room in pedalpushers & off the shoulder pirate style blouses. I wonder if that bride & groom are still together now – if not I blame the stylist!

7 year itch?
7 year bitch!

I read something the other day about an old married couple who claim the longevity of their marriage is down to having a small argument a day. Bman best get saving up for whatever precious stone you get for a 100 years together then if that’s the case as we seem destined to spend eternity bickering, squabbling & trying to get the last word over one other until hell freezes over. Hurrah for the dawn of the technological Internet Age when we can at least spend our freetime in separate rooms doing our own thing rather then sitting in the lounge attempting smalltalk or hiding behind newspapers and grunting acknowledgements to each other by way of civil conversation.

Copper & Wool, Brass & Desk Sets are apparently the presents usually associated with a seventh wedding anniversary, so 2pence & a balaclava & a free pen & pencil from Northern Rail then eh? Got no money to spend on such frivolities as wedding anniversary gifts – a can of Irn Bru & a bickering-free 24 hours will do for me.


I went to Manc on Saturday which was gloriously warm and sunny for a change. Arrived at lunchtime and despite having no money whatsoever headed straight to Primada which, on a Saturday, was like retail suicide. To be fair there were that many questionable items on the rails that I would rather have committed suicide than be seen dead in them. Many of which I had to look twice at to see if they were on the hanger upside down. The Manchester store is huge and I was only on a mission for cheap red shorts or trackies for me for R’s High School Musical birthday party but abandoned the idea in the end and decided to try and tunnel to safety through the underwear aisles. I text my sister and advised her where to send the Marines to find my body if I wasn’t out by the close of play. It was bargaincarnage in there & to the ladies (I use the term loosely) who had their little children in there on the hottest day Manchester has seen for years I say you should be put on some kind of At Risk register. The smell alone of 2,000 clammy vest wearing armpits unacclimatised to temperatures above 10 degrees clambering for cut-price t shirts and badly fitting polyester playsuits was enough to kill a bloodhound stone dead in it’s tracks!

Fortunately my sister rescued me and we both escaped relatively unscathed and lived to see the joy that was a skyblue/pink flamingo emblazoned cardi in the sale at Bay Trading (“It was noice, it was unusual”) and then arrive safely back at Chez J & JC to sit in the yard with an afternoon pear cider refresher before we headed off to a BBQ in Didsbury.

Had a very alarming moment when, on the way to the BBQ I was telling a tale of times gone by when we used to go back to a flat in that area post-rave but I had never been able to work out since where this flat had actually been. Then low & behold we arrived at our destination & went into her mate’s building and I was like; “Whoah! I think this is the place!” Freaky!!

So we had some BBQ, drank some more, watched “Britain’s Clearly Got Absolutely No Talent Whatsoever but F&@k it! Let’s Champion That Anyway!” WTF was that all about? I have thus far, managed to avoid any of this year’s BGT and watched the final in the communal garden of this flat with growing awe and bewilderment. If this was the Final, and therefore one would hope and assume, the best of the bunch, the ones who did not make it that far must have been frankly frightening! Could a show BE more formulaic with it’s line up of contestants? Oh… I forgot…Big Brother starts this week so… sadly… Yes. It can!

The night was not a total loss though as when, at my sister’s insistence, despite having already eaten at the BBQ we ended up at a curry house in Didsbury after being waylaid by a few G&T’s at The Woodstock pub on the way, it was still so warm that two guys also dining at the restaurant decided to strip off and dine au natrel! Nudey times and quite bizarre, but also so very Manchester!

Back to school this week though. My childerbeast returned home yesterday afternoon after having spent a lovely few days at Ma B’s in the Boro – visiting farms, donkey rides, paddling in rockpools, going to see Annie at the theatre and, as far as I am aware, not kicking off or carrying on in any way which would have given rise to my needing to hear about it.
I spent my final day of freedom sat in the garden reading, drinking pop & soaking my feet in the paddling pool and listening to music on the CB’s portable stereo to drown out the sound of drilling from next door & someone a few houses away singing along very poorly to some kind of ethinc traditional folk song!
Peace and quiet indeed?!
Am off to watch a show now about some wierdies in America who keep pet monkeys and dress them up and stuff like their own children. It sounds like fabulous Tuesday night telly.



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