Unmissable Twaddle

There is one thing I like about Hallowe’en.

One thing that I didn’t think I’d ever see again.

Most Haunted Live!

Fighting a poltergeist in Pontefract.

That’s me sorted for the night.

More tomorrow. Although possibly just me laughing.


Happy Hallowe’en?

It’s Hallowe’en tomorrow.

It’s also our anniversary.

At the time, it seemed like a good idea. Start dating on Hallowe’en then you’ll always remember it’s the anniversary of our togetherness. Which I do. I’ve single-handedly not managed to provide any sort of celebratory card for the last couple of years (including this one, sorry!) but I do remember it’s the anniversary.

So that works.

There are drawbacks, though.

Let’s say we wanted a nice romantic night in, snuggled on the couch arguing about what to watch on TV or something. You know, coupley stuff. We can’t do that because it’s Hallowe’en. We either have to spend our evening in muted darkness or, should light win out, answering the door to a stream of costumed beggars and cheeky teens who can’t be arsed to make an effort but still feel entitled to the sweets.

Or we go out.

To somewhere which is normally lovely but is tackily Hallowe’en themed. Who doesn’t want to be served a meal by a zombie (unless you’re in a Harvester) or have your ticket stub checked by a werewolf or Frankenstein’s monster.

I’ll tell you who.

This guy.

Carole loves Hallowe’en. She wants to decorate the house and attract children from miles around (in a non-creepy way). She’d like nothing more than to be dishing out sweets from a plastic pumpkin all night, while I sat on the couch rolling my eyes. Or, probably, wanting a selfie with a horror-themed staff member of an eatery or entertainment establishment. While I rolled my eyes.

And not rolling them across the floor in a horrific way…

Tomorrow is our anniversary. Nine years of happy times, sad times, grumbly times. You know, coupley stuff.

I just prefer it when we get to nine years and one day.


I heard a phrase while shopping

Getting stuff for my tea

It really was a stand-out line

And definitely stuck with me.

The clientelle of our local Tesco’s

Are really rather rough

From the shouty, screechy parents

To the ones who act all tough.

And that kid on his “hoverboard”

Gliding round the store

Or kids upon their scooters

I’m not sure who annoys me more.

Or the woman who, by eight o’clock,

Is already slightly hammered

And in there buying alcohol

“V..v..vodka” she slurred and stammered.

But the other night I heard the phrase

And I’ll recreate it here

“Will you carry the baby?

And I’ll bring out the beer.”

Sky’s Kryptonite

Our Sky Plus hates Supergirl.

That’s the only logical explanation. I don’t know if the hatred extends to all former residents of Krypton or whether it’s just her but the box has crashed every single time I’ve tried to add the show to the planner.

And not only that, I tried to watch one of the adverts for the show and it wouldn’t let me do that without much grinding of metaphorical gears and gnashing of theoretical teeth.

So as it stands at the moment, the show starts tomorrow night and it’s still not in the planner. I’ll try again later but won’t be holding my breath.

Which, when that fails, will leave me with only one course of action.

To record it as the show starts tomorrow.

Which means the already Kara-hating Sky Box will be forced to display the actual show.

I dread to think what will happen. I might just move everything flamable, just in case. And maybe make sure Peppa’s safely upstairs. And have the kitchen fire extinguisher to hand. And make sure I’m fully insulated. And that all ny affairs are in order before I click the big red R button…

If you don’t hear from me again, fear the worst.

Carappa The Rapper

The thing, I think, that’s far worse

Than tinny music on the bus

Are the people who must rap along

Both talent- and tuneless.

It’s bad enough to hear the song

In its unfettered form

But it’s totally another

When sung along to by a gorm.

I’m really very sorry to the rapper on the bus

But your vocals are quite grating

How long until you will get off?

Already I am waiting.

Now, instead of rapping

You’re just flicking through the songs

Like a guess the intro competition

With oh so many wrongs.

A day of work is bad enough

And the commute home even worse

Without you, my hooded friend

Singing along to every verse.