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The often dubious, politically incorrect and mainly humorous musings of Ms Jane Turley, (Ex) Housewife Extraordinaire.

From subversive to submissive

I’m having a hell of a morning, folks. Full of disappointment. Now this is not because Master Jacob has forgotten his PE kit AGAIN and I’ve had to drive into town to drop it off – because three days in a row would have resulted in a major depression as I would have known for sure that my son was incapable of remembering anything but his first name. So all’s good – just two days in a row and he’s even managed to catch the bus every day this week. Yippee. The truth is I’m depressed because I’ve received an email from Amazon trying to sell me a matching set of placements and coasters. Now this is depressing because, frankly, I’m not looking like a very dynamic person if all they can try and seduce me with is placemats and coasters. How about sending me an email for a super-charged

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Interrupting the deafening silence

Yes, I know I’ve have not been around much of late. However, today I had to break the silence to report a crime so heinous by one of the Young Masters that it can not go unreported. When they return home from school today I will be wearing my Spanish Inquisition frock and my kitchen tools will be laid out for ready for use. I will find out whether it is Master Benedict or Master Jacob who is the perpetrator of this unforgivable crime. And what crime is this I hear you ask? Well, dear readers, this morning I opened my email account and found a record of an unexpected purchase from itunes. One of the my boys has downloaded Let Me Go by Gary Barlow. GRR. I thought I was doing a good job with their music education. I shall have to review my methods.

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A (quick) Christmas Quiz

In case you’ve been wondering where I’ve been and where is my promised short story collection, here’s a short picture quiz which should enable you to deduce the answer. My laptop, featuring a picture of my forthcoming short story collection. A cup of green tea and lemon. (This mug was a gift from a friend  who, I think, was trying to give me a subtle message. Jokingly, of course.) Speaks for itself really. Yep, so there you have it; I drowned my laptop. In true Mrs T form, I manage to completely wreck it. However, as I try to look on the bright side of things, you might be interested to know that I can now personally vouch for cleaning properties of green tea and lemon. You may be even more interested to know that a range of previously unknown obscenities will be published in the English dictionary next year.

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A Thanksgiving Day Letter to Seth MacFarlane

Mrs Turley The Towers London  England Seth MacFarlane The Studios Hollywood  USA Dear Seth You have broken my heart. You have ruined Thanksgiving Day for your fellow countrymen. You have put the world in mourning. How could you kill off Brian in Family Guy? How could you? I loved Brian as if he were my own dog. The fact I don’t have a dog is irrelevant, but if I had a dog he would be just like Brian. We would have frolicked on my bed blowing raspberries, watching porn  the Disney channel and laughing about Americanisms. What fun Brian and I would have had! But now we can’t. Because Brian is dead.  As you can tell, even though I’m English, I was very fond of Brian. As your typical English person, I am also very pro animal rights (except when it comes to foxes and badgers) so I am outraged by

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An appeal on behalf of mothers to the makers of Doctor Who

Dear Producers, Are you out of your minds? Are you seriously going to have that old guy, Peter Capaldi, as the new Doctor Who? I’ve only just got used to the idea of Matt Smith as the Doctor and that’s because he looks like a bloke in his thirties now and not like he’s fresh out of nappies. And particularly ugly nappies, if I might say so. Look, I know most of the Doctors weren’t exactly youngsters but that was before merchandising really took off. Have you any idea what it’s like to wake in the night to a screaming child, run into their bedroom and find them pointing at a plastic figurine of Matt Smith bathed in moonlight? No? Well, let me tell you it’s not great. But now you’ve gone and got Capaldi I expect the screaming to intensify. I shall probably have to hire a therapist soon.

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I am the Anti-Writer

When I first started my blog, I used to write the occasional post giving new dictionary definitions for common words. Back then my life revolved around domesticity and children so they were words like washing machine (a square shaped inanimate object used for the cleaning of clothes which holds no interest for men despite having a round door which opens and closes without foreplay). These days, although I don’t write much about writing here, I do occasionally mix with writers online and I certainly read a lot about writing and the arts in general. This has lead me to put together a new set of dictionary definitions appropriate to the moment. Here we go: Artist: someone who talks about himself a lot, is likely to be mentally unstable and draws pictures of himself as the Elephant man. Artists are usually harmless but are usually into self-harm. Painter: someone who knows the difference

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Trouble in the School Changing Rooms

Yes, there has been trouble in the school changing rooms this week. Young Master Jacob has twice had money stolen from a zipped pocket in his trousers, resulting in him not being able to buy his lunch. Obviously, I am not pleased about this, especially as I have experienced first hand the trouble one can have with school bullies. (  I recounted one “fight” episode in my blog post Kenny & Dolly & The Adventurous Tales of Mrs T .) So, naturally,  I was discussing strategies with Master Jacob prior to school this morning. As I was doing so, Master Benedict returned from the bathroom where his teeth had undergone the rare experienced of being cleaned. “Why don’t you just box him?” says Master Ben. (I should point out Master Jacob has a suspicion he knows who the culprit is.) Now the same thought had crossed my mind as it is

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I am on Twitter!

Yes, I’ve finally caved in and signed up with Twitter. Now that my manuscript is out the big wide world accruing rejections, I thought I’d better join up with Twitter in case some big hot-shot literary agent pops in and thinks I’m not taking this writing business seriously. So I decided it was time for Twitter- cos let’s face it at my age offering sex for publication is not really a viable option. Apart from the fact that lots of literary agents appear to be women and I’m not a lesbian, I don’t think white, size eighteen thermal knickers would go down too well on the casting couch. So it has to be Twitter. So here I am: https://twitter.com/turleytalks Now unfortunately, all the combinations of my blog title Witty Ways, Wayward Wife, Witty Wife etc etc as well as MY name were already taken. Pah!  So in the end I just

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A quick poem about my driving skills

Nissans are blue Vauxhalls are green I’ve hit them both Which wasn’t forseen Kias are trouble But Nissans are worse They sneak up on you When you try to reverse I’ve hit so many cars The public are wary And my husband’s so cross He looks rather scary The police are on the lookout For a woman on their list Who looks like a loony And drives like she’s pissed. I’m hiding in the bathroom Until the cops disappear It wouldn’t be too bad But the sewerage pipe’s sheared. Where cars are concerned I haven’t had much luck I’d probably be okay though If I had a big truck

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An extract from White Lies, from my forthcoming short story collection.

William Baxter crosses the floor, his sharp steps echoing in the marble foyer. The security guard looks up and touches his cap and Baxter gives him a cursory nod of recognition. Baxter always acknowledges security even though most of them indulge the rumour that he murdered his mother. Baxter knows that when you have a reputation as a man who pulls off impossible deals and bankrupts other business malicious gossip is always rife. He’s learnt to live with rumours, sometimes they even make him laugh, but most of the time Baxter just shrugs them off as inconsequential gossip. As for the rumour he murdered his mother – it’s one he quite enjoys.             Baxter ignores the fanciful stares of two secretaries returning from lunch and hurries towards the exit, securing the buttons on his cashmere coat with one hand and stealing a glimpse at his Rolex on the other. Time

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Lattes, Mottos and Coffee Shops

Question: what’s a motto? Alrighty, let’s first establish that a “motto” is not a new type of fancy coffee. Because if someone asked me would I like a motto I’d probably reply; “No, I’d prefer a latte, thank you.” You know, coffee shops confuse the hell out of me with all the different types of coffee and flavourings.They’re popping up everywhere. We even have a barista bar at one the fancier tennis clubs we go to now which is revolutionary; I’m used to taking my own flask of coffee or paying fifty pence for coffee that’s indistinguishable from liquid detergent. Anyway, at that particular barista bar, if I now ask for a coffee they look at me as if I’ve spoken a foreign language and I have to qualify my request: “Yes, a coffee. A normal one: coffee, water. In a cup. Hopefully, delivered in less time it takes to

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A Modern Life: A Cover Story

I have some writing news. My novel, The Changing Room, has been edited, re-drafted and is finally under submission. I’m very pleased with my story and hope that readers, men as well as women, will find it entertaining as well as uplifting. That said, I know it will be difficult to find an agent or publisher that is prepared to endorse a novel with strong comic elements. To this extent, if I haven’t received any interest over the next couple of months I plan to self-publish in the new year. I believe, that given the opportunity, people would read more fiction with humour in it and, even though humour is subjective, I have yet to meet anyone who prefers crying to laughing. In the meantime, in December I’m publishing a collection of short stories called A Modern Life. Many of the stories have been trialled on my blog and elsewhere

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