This is one of my true-life embarrassing stories that happened several years ago. It was just before Christmas and Master Ben was in dire need of a haircut. I wasn’t going to put up with any of his feeble excuses in an attempt to get out a much-needed haircut, so I frogmarched him into the barbers which, in the pre-Christmas rush, was pretty busy. Now this is a barbers which is principally a male barber’s shop but will occasionally cut women’s hair if they’re not busy. Anyway, Master Ben and I were awaiting his turn in the barber’s chair. It was a long long wait and although there were two barbers both had clients and there were two further clients in the waiting area. I was filling in my time reading The Sun (standard barber shop reading) and Master Ben was filling his time just looking around. This was the conversation that followed:

9.59pm. Two hours and one minute before the A to Z deadline – Mrs T wanders into the lounge where Master Benedict is relaxing with his feet up watching the telly and drinking a glass of orange. Mrs T: What subject beginning with the letter L should I write about for the A to Z? Master Benedict (instant reply) Laxatives. Mrs T: Laxatives? Master Benedict: What is “laxative” not good enough for you? Mrs T: No. Laxatives will do just fine. You see folks, that is what my life is like as the mother of three boys who lives in a house with four males. If I am not being subjected to rude jokes and the regular breaking of wind, I am subjected to conversations that seem always to revolve around bowel movements. Oh, how I long for some sophisticated conversation about what’s on the West End or the latest bestselling books!

Being a girl who was brought up in the countryside I am fond of my vegetables. (And I am not talking about the locals.) I even eat Brussel sprouts which probably puts me in a minority group and deserving of a government grant. I must also be one of the very few who eats the gherkin slices in a McDonalds’ hamburger. I’m not sure what a slice of gherkin adds to a hamburger – maybe it’s to fool customers into thinking McDonalds’ burgers are healthy because they have some ghastly greens in them. But anyway, I am one of those people who don’t like to waste food (especially out-of-date chocolates and biscuits) as I was brought up in a family with a frugal budget where we couldn’t afford to waste what little we had. So this brings me to the subject of kale which, just in case you don’t know, is

There comes a time in life when you look in the mirror and begin to see fine lines and wrinkles. This is pretty bad news in a society focussed on youth and beauty. However, that day it is not so bad as the one when you notice for the first time that your neck and chin appear somewhat…saggy. In an attempt to disguise the sagging chin flesh you put on a roll-neck jumper, enormous dangly earrings and wrap a scarf decorously around your neck. You plaster yourself with makeup. You jut out your jaw. You take off your glasses. But whatever you do the sagging chin flesh is still there! In despair, you crack open a bottle of red (even though it’s only 10 am) slurp down a big glass and finally admit to yourself that you have a jowl. Thereafter, whenever you look in the mirror you see this:

I am cheating tonight as I running out of time to meet the deadline. So I am posting an extract from my novel The Changing Room which features my heroine Sandy’s initiation into The Beaver Club sex-chat service. The extract features ice cream in a rather saucy manner. Enjoy!  “It just so happens I do have some friends here, Professor.” Deidre pulls an amused face. “But I’m not sure if you can handle us all at the same time…you think you can? You are a very naughty, naughty boy, Professor. I think I shall have to discipline you soon.”             There’s a long pause whilst Deidre listens to the Professor talk. Unfortunately or fortunately (I’m not sure which), none of us can hear but as Deidre is contorting her face into all sorts of shocked, confused and revolted expressions, we all have a very good idea what the Professor is

I lost my sightBecause I had no rights I lost my soulIn a pitiful hole I lost my heartBecause I played no part I lost my mindIn all the unkind If I could breatheI would not grieve If I could singIt would be Spring If I could shoutI would have no doubt And if I was freeI could be me.  by Jane

So tonight my subject is the G-spot which, in my opinion, which would be more aptly named the Z-spot because I’ve heard on the Turley grapevine that many women are prone to falling asleep or dying from boredom whilst their man is searching for it. (Especially if he’s also looking at the football results – see my F for foreplay post.) Now I am not suggesting that all males are cack-handed at foreplay and finding the G-spot. On the contrary, I am sure there’s at least half a dozen men out there who know what they’re doing. And if any of you ladies know where they are please let the rest of us know and then we can all form an orderly queue. To be fair to the male species, I admit it is well known that the G-spot is pretty elusive. Some say it doesn’t even exist. All I can

This is going to be a very short post. (As befitting the average amount of foreplay a typical woman receives.) So… foreplay. It’s a bit of a sensitive subject. But I’m not one to shy away from sensitive subjects so I’ve done some research on it. (About the average length of a foreplay session so I leave you to come to your own conclusions on my diligence.)  And I have come to the following conclusion: 1. Women don’t get enough of it. That’s it. Oh yes… and sometimes it is a bit messy. So my top five tips for men to improve their lovelife and satisfy their women are: 1. When a woman says “Don’t stop doing that” it should not be wrongly interpreted that she means you should stop and look-up the football scores. 2.When a woman passionately whispers “Oh George you’re so gorgeous” and your name is not

Today it is time to talk about a subject that will particularly resonate with readers in the UK where the words “Extended Engineering Works” or a signpost that reads “Delays expected until August 2018” can instantly induce suicidal thoughts, mass hysteria or the kind of quiet British resignation which makes foreign espionage an attractive proposition. You see, whether you travel by rail or by car, getting around the UK requires the sort of endurance and initiative that in other countries qualify you for the armed forces. However, in the UK the average Brit knows that to travel into London by train is a test of endurance like no other. In Germany they are proud to claim they their trains run on time: in the UK we are proud if we make it into work without having a seizure. Only in the UK do the words “leaves on the track,” “overhead power cable failure”

*WARNING*. THIS POST CONTAINS SLEAZY AND CRASS POETRY IF YOU ARE A FAN OF JOHN DONNE LEAVE NOW AND NEVER COME BACK. So today I am going to be devoting my D post to two extremes of beings: The Deity or Demigod and The Dunce. Now I am not going to pretend I am learned and studied the classics and know all about Greek and Roman mythology because I don’t.  And I am way too lazy to bother trying to look them up at 11 pm on a Tuesday evening with less than hour before I miss the A to Z deadline. So I’d thought I’d talk about deities and demigods in modern terms. So, after having thought for about a minute long and hard about how I might define deities and demigods in terms of a modern day being or likeness, I came up with this example. George Clooney.

Firstly, in case any of you are super sensitive types, I want to be clear that this post is primarily about balls – as in footballs and circular objects and not the UK slang meaning of balls which is men’s testicles which, let’s face it, aren’t really round – more like droopy bags of turkey giblets. Now in my time as a Housewife Extraordinaire, it has come to my attention that men seem to have an affinity with balls, or indeed anything round in shape, including footballs, snooker balls, beer glasses, marbles, DVDs, women’s bottoms (regrettably, this doesn’t include mine as it has become somewhat elongated over the past decade) and, of course…breasts. Now us gals know that all men are particularly stupid about round things. Especially breasts. Which is why even the least intelligent women have deduced that if they fill their breasts with large amounts of rounded silicone they will become