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

Too Much Information!

Have you ever experienced one of those moments when someone says something they shouldn’t? Or perhaps you’ve read an article, a Facebook status or seen a picture that you would really rather not see? Yesterday, that happened to me. I was reading an article on Yahoo which was curiously titled “Japan faces “extinction” in a thousand years.”  and a very interesting article it was too on the decline of the birthrate in Japan. Well it was – until I got to this sentence: Unicharm said (on) Friday that sales of its adult diapers had “slightly surpassed” those for babies in the financial year to March, for the first time since the company moved into the seniors market. UGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH. That I do NOT need do know! I am trying to stave off old age here! I do not need an image of the entire population of Japan wearing diapers shoved into the forefront of

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A Formal Complaint about Schools

Right, what shall we talk about now that I’ve got my formal complaint about spots off my face. (See previous post.) I know – let’s talk about the massive plank of wood that fell off the school gymnasium wall today and hit Master Ben on the head and knocked him to floor. So shall I or shan’t I ask for a copy of the accident report and the last health and safety check on the school gym equipment? Hmm. Now let me think – the school have already got it in for Master Ben because I’ve brought it to their attention that certain members of their staff couldn’t organise a piss up in a brewery – let alone mark a book. I may become even more unpopular than I already am but, more importantly, so might Master Ben who is already dispirited by the turn of events of the last year or so. Hmm… I wonder

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A Formal Complaint about Spots

I am forty seven and I still suffer from spots. Please don’t leave this page though; I am not that revolting. Just you know – a tiny bit. I haven’t got big boils under the armpits or anything like that – and I’m not infectious. Facetious – yes. Infectious – no. Anyway, these accursed spots really annoy me, especially when I look at my friends’ faces and I don’t ever see them with any spots. Not that I wish spots upon them – but it would make my life more bearable if every now and then one of them got some huge pus infected monster that required a javelin to lance. Hmm at this point, Dear Readers, as I was writing I Googled “Big Boils” on Google Images and got some fascinating pictures. The ones of actual boils made me want to throw up so I’ll spare you that horror – and the rest were really quite bizarre

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Guilty Stories, Wonderful Music and Cryptic Clues

I am probably not the only one who felt a little tear sting their eye when the news broke that Robin Gibb was on his deathbed. There probably aren’t many of us, young or old, who haven’t at some point in our lives enjoyed the wonderful music of the BeeGees. How utterly delightful it is to now know that Robin Gibb has come out of his coma and is speaking to his family again. The BeeGee brothers have been struck by some awful tragedies in their lives – how lovely it would be if Robin and Barry could lightened our lives with a little bit more of their very special brand of music for a few years longer. Poor Robin is facing some serious challenges though with bowel cancer, liver failure and pneumonia. But he’s already faced survived against the odds – let’s hope he can make the distance. Anyway, this morning

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The Homeless, Drugs and Mental Illness

I have a new book review up on The View From Here. By début novelist Tyler Stevens, Street is about the challenging topics of the homeless, mental illness and drug abuse. Today I took a day off to see a shrink. To tell him my problems. And I went and it was okay, except I knew he was messing with me, and he knew I was messing with him. I told him I felt out of sorts and violent. Tell me about the violent thoughts, he said. My guess is the book is semi-autobiographical. It’s very thought provoking and emotionally quite raw, as is the writing. I actually liked that – such a change from all that ludicrous chick lit and implausible thrillers with plots you need Google Maps to follow. It was very refreshing to read something that sounded both true and honest and where the author clearly had something very important he needed to say.

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Because of My Deep Affection for Tom Cruise

I know I mention Tom Cruise too often. I’m sorry, I can’t help it. He’s just so small he’s gotten under my skin. Anyway, it’s wet and rainy, cricket is rained off, tennis is rained off and I feel a little unwell. Therefore, there is nothing else to do but cheer myself up as best possible. So I have designed a special suit for Tom to wear in the next Mission Impossible film which I believe will be call Mission Impossible: Rabbit Warren.  I love this suit and I think Tom will too – and since I only had to buy size 13-14 years which was a snip at £98.00 I may even order a second suit just in case his ears get caught in a trap.

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My Garden and Elizabethan England.

I am building a boat. It has been raining far too much lately. My back garden which has already been decimated by Master Ben’s chickens now looks like a cesspit. It’s wallowing in mud. It probably looks like London in Tudor times. The only difference is – instead of me throwing excrement out the window I have chickens on hand to save me the trouble. It must have been great fun to live in Tudor times. Apart from the cholera, dysentery and the plague. And all those men dressing up as women on stage. No wonder the men wore tights all the time. I think there was a lot of gender confusion going on. To be honest, I’m not even sure if Queen Elizabeth was a woman. For a start she never had any children and she wore those big dresses – and you can hide a lot under one of those dresses. Even a small circus. In fact,

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I am all of a dither – should I buy this gift?

Oh Readers, I’ve just been on Amazon and browsed through their deals of the week and saw an article of clothing I am sorely tempted to buy for the good Mr T. In fact, as soon as I saw it I immediately thought:  Why that is just so stylish and elegant for the debonair man the about town. I am sure Mr T would love to wear it! And Readers, this lovely article of clothing is only a paltry £98.00. I think it will make a great gift for any man for Father’s day. Start saving now. So what do you think? Shall I get it or not? Honest opinions please. Oh Gosh – I’m not sure about the colour though. Maybe I should go for the pink? Although I’m not sure if my budget can stretch to £140 for this one which is obviously very fashionable indeed at the moment.  Hmm…or maybe the

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Me and My Courtesy Car

Yes, I am driving a courtesy car. This is because last week I managed to successfully wreck the clutch on my Ford Cmax. Apparently, according to everyone I know, it is because of my (lack of) driving skills – apart from my good friend Mrs A who is blaming it on normal wear and tear. Now that’s what I call a true friend. So last week Master Ben and I set off for Cambridge for a tennis tournament and it became apparent en route all was not well with my car.  As we returned home later in the day, we had to negotiate a small but steepish hill just outside of Cambridge where the revs moved into the red danger zone and there was simply no power at all in the engine – despite my gentle verbal encouragement – which normally my car responds to very well indeed. We only just about made it to the top of the hill – whereupon I knew

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Stop talking about shoes!

Warning: this article may offend some women: read at your peril. Please, please, please, please, please stop talking about shoes. Look, I like shoes. Some I like better than others.  I walk in them, play tennis in them, occasionally dance in them and sometimes I even muck out the chickens in them. But I do not want to read about them, either in magazines, books or newspapers unless it’s a humorous article which points out how ridiculously stupid and expensive some of them are or it’s something poignant like my friend Marie’s article here. I also do not want to see them on the cover of any book. A book with high heels on it is like a red rag to a bull to me – it screams to me; Hello, I’m another tedious piece of anal chick lit! I will probably have numerous references to designer shoes and handbags and after you’ve read

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I have had too much white wine

I’ve been up since 5am – who can blame me? So I am currently working my way through a bottle of dessert wine which is 16% proof. The fact I can type is actually a miracle. Thank goodness for spell checker. God may have made man in 7 days but I reckon on the 8th day he made spell checker. Don’t you just love him? Anyway, Mr T believes I am working at my writing. Which, of course, I am – as blogging is writing. Of sorts. Still, it’s a good learning curve. That’s what Quasimodo said when he reached the top of the bell tower. He was also pretty knackered. But then again, that’s what happens when you stuff your shirt with a bale of hay and 2 chickens. I should say that when I have had too much wine I am liable to say anything. Which is why I restrain from

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Born to be a clown

I have a habit of being a clown. It comes naturally. I look around me and see sophisticated women everywhere and wonder where I went wrong. So today I got so excited watching Master Jacob play tennis that when I went to sit down I sat on the edge of my chair, tipped it right over and landed on my arse and splayed all over the floor in front of about twenty or more people. Much to everyone’s amusement. And I thought the petticoat incident was bad enough. Oh wait a minute, there was the knickers round the ankles incident too…. I am 47 years old. These things are not supposed to happen. What’s more I still get spots. It is soooooooooo unfair – I am lodging a complaint with Him Upstairs! On another matter, here’s my favourite record of the moment; I Won’t Give Up by Jason Mraz. I went to

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