honeymoon from Hell

As my third wedding anniversary is rapidly approaching I thought I’d share with you the hideous tale of my honeymoon.  My husband says “If we'd have had a normal honeymoon we’d have forgotten about it by now” I beg to differ. 

Like many couples, we had a budget for our wedding and when I say budget I mean budget.  We had exactly £5,000.  Some may say that’s plenty and some may say that’s the cost of the dress! Nevertheless, we managed to (just about) stay within this sum and had a fantastic day.  But one thing we neglected to factor into this five grand was our honeymoon.  When we first set the date for the wedding we were thinking BIG for the holiday, it was a one-off and we wanted to go out with a bang.  Initially we were thinking the Maldives but as the general cost of the wedding was totting up, the finances for the honeymoon were getting less.  So from the Maldives we went down to Mauritius then to New York but in reality there was only enough money left in the pot for a weekend in the Lakes.

“Don’t worry baby, leave it to me.  Honestly I’ll sort it all out and it will be the best honeymoon ever and I promise when we’ve paid off the wedding we’ll have a proper honeymoon”

Oh how I wish I’d have got that in writing…and signed in blood!

‘PING’ I opened the email, it was a booking confirmation form.  He’s done it I thought, he’s actually booked our honeymoon!  I picked up the phone and squealed “You’ve booked something, what have you booked?”  I listened attentively as my husband to-be described an idyllic village just ten minutes from the coast. Perfect or so I thought.

The bags were packed and after a quick Superman style change in the work loo we were off and three hours later had finally made it to Aspatria.  It was 7.30pm on a gloomy October night and I struggled to understand why this so-called idyllic village consisted of a hardware store, three pubs (one which was boarded up), a telephone box and bugger all else.  It must of taken us all of 10 seconds to reach the ‘You are now leaving Aspatria’ sign?  No, it couldn’t be right?  As we pulled over to reassess, Jase spotted the top of the hotel sign behind a huge brick wall.  As he turned the car around, I physically couldn’t stop my head from falling in my hands as I despaired at the sight before me.  It was an exact replica of the Norman Bates house.  Set way back from the road, swamped in gnarled trees and in complete darkness it looked almost derelict.  As my husband stuttered an attempt to reassure me I gave him a look that silenced him instantly and as he exited the car I snapped “Don’t bother taking the cases out”.

As we gingerly walked through the door we were greeted with a beautiful tiled floor, mahogany service desk and a grand chandelier.  OK I can cope with this – creepy on the outside, elegant on the inside or so I thought.  As we rang the bell a very tall and apparently Dutch man donned in white pants, a white t-shirt and no shoes comes into view.  I immediately looked at Jase and mouthed “We are going to die if we stay here” he squeezed my hand and gave me a little head shake.  As they exchanged pleasantries and Jase ordered a Cumberland Ring for breakfast I took the opportunity to take a closer look at the décor and I didn’t like what I saw.  On the walls were several five foot frames each containing a child’s dress and gloves, framed crocheted bible quotes, old sepia photos of families outside churches and lots of other weird and disturbing paraphernalia. Devout Mormons it would seem. The only thing I could think was “Holy F**k”.   The next thing I knew I was being led up the stairs to be introduced to our room.  Trance-like I was nodding and smiling when required as I was told it was a shared bathroom and when our room door opened my face froze.  The tiny room housed two single beds which were lined up against the wall headboard to headboard, a toilet, a wardrobe and a Mormon bible!  The conversation that followed as I locked myself in the room was not a pleasant one and thankfully Jase had the sense to sit there and take what I had to say otherwise he’d have been in A & E having The Book of Mormon surgically removed from his ass.

“Do not unpack that case Jason” I said.

“Come on we’re here now, why don’t we go and have a drink and chat about what we should do” he replied.

“Fine but I’m sleeping in the car” I hissed.

 As we crept out onto the street we spied a pub just off the main street.  Obviously when we arrived there was no one in but us.  As the Landlady picked up the flow of our conversation she screamed with laughter at the thought that we were sat in a one horse town in a shitty back street pub for our honeymoon. 

“Where on earth are you staying then” she said

“At the guest house across the road” I replied

“You’re joking” she said with a deathly look on her face. I knew that whatever she was going to say next wasn’t going to be good and I was right.

“You’re staying at that guest house! You do know that that used to be a hospital for the mentally ill and the Dutch man who runs it now has one side for guests and the other for rehabilitating drug users”

“Double vodka please” I whispered and blenched.  Once again she cackled with laughter, shook her head and shouted “Honeymoon!”.

I can honestly say I don’t think I’ve ever drank so much liquor in such as short time but there was no way I was going back in that house sober and that night as we huddled together in a single bed I really believed that we would not be waking up.

But what do you know, we did.  We were alive and despite being elated about this fact I was still pretty pissed off about the whole situation and really wanted to go home.  After a few heated discussions we agreed to have breakfast and take a drive to the next town to see what was there and as we entered the dining room we seemed to be met with what appeared to be the rehab patients!  We were directed to our seat by the owner, complete with flip flops, and whilst we ordered our drinks, two tea-light warm plates and two tea-lights in glasses on beds of rice were lit! WTF.  As the Mormon turns and leaves Jase pipes up “F**k me, what we having a Madras?!” and roars out laughing, much to the disapproval of the Dutch man as he places a tea pot on the heated tray.

After a very rushed scrambled egg and coffee we are both back in bed trying to fathom out what to do for the best and I started to get a whiff of something that wasn’t quite right.  What the hell was that smell?  As we lay in bed I feared to move as the smell of pure turd was so strong I really thought that Jase had shit himself.  And as he slowly filled his lungs with the foul air I could see he was thinking the same about me.  Two minutes later we were sat in the car and as he started the engine I could hold back the tears no more.  I wasn’t quite sure how long this marriage was going to last.

“Don’t worry baby, I’m really, really sorry.  Look, we’ll go for a drive and see what in the next town.  We can check into another hotel.  Please don’t cry”

“Just let’s go home, I’ve had enough.  Leave it in your expert hands you said...”

And as we drove to Maryport it only got worse.  The town was completely shut down for the winter and it seemed that even the sea had pissed off because as we peered over the coastal wall there was nothing but uncouth smelling brown sludge.

With one swoop Jase scoop me up and bundled me in the car “Right that’s it, we’ll go back to the ‘Hell House’ collect the bags and go and find somewhere else to stay”.  I tried to protest but he would have none of it and with that we were off. 

As the Guest House came into view along with it came the stench of raw sewage.  It took no more than sixty seconds for Jase to go up and down the stairs and be back in the car with the case.  As we drove away, me laughing and crying, Jase said that there had been a random pair of flip flops at the top of the stairs and a women in a pink fluffy dressing gown polishing the pictures on the wall.  He hadn’t bothered to officially check out or ask for any money back, we were out and alive and that’s all that mattered.  We drove sixty miles to Keswick but like Mary and Joseph (without Baby Jesus) there was ‘No room at the Inn’ and just as we were about to give up and go home, two lovely jam-making Lesbians took pity on us and let us stay in their Guest House for two of the three nights we wanted.  And despite the wind, rain and the extra expense we managed to have a pleasant remainder of the trip.

So which would you have?  White fluffy sand and clear blue seas or a burst septic tank and one hell of a scary but memorable experience…

Love & kisses

Twiglette Piglette

nightmare on canal street

We’re very fortunate to live in an area that’s plenty green and not too far from the Bridgewater canal. Whilst waiting for this so-called Indian summer, my husband and I took the opportunity to go for a romantic walk while the rain held off and like many of the other O.A.Ps in the area we decided to go for a stroll along the towpath. 

Getting on at The Old Boathouse in Astley, we headed north towards Manchester, tipping ones hat to those we met along the way.  It was a beautiful warm sunny Sunday and the only worries we had were getting nipped by those beastly midgies.   En route to Worsley was delicious.  We were hand in hand, loved up and laughing out loud like a pair of love struck teenagers – the same cannot be said for the return journey.

Having walked an hour and surfaced at The John Gilbert, we stood for a moment and took in the view of the boats fantasising about spending our retirement fund and as the wind picked up we decided to head back and stop off at the pub for a swift half. 

We were approximately half way home when in the distance I spotted a bloke up ahead.  He was swaying from side to side but nevertheless still moving in a forward direction.  Sub-consciously I made a mental note of him and carried on with my conversation.  But as he got progressively slower and we got progressively closer I could see him pulling his coat tight around him and then zipping it up.  Immediately I thought that was a bit weird considering it’s still really warm and then before I’d had chance to process that this guy was acting a little bizarre he quickly unzipped his coat and started flapping the sides open like the wings of a bird.  I stopped and pulled on J’s arm.  He jolted wondering why I had stopped.  I nodded in the direction of the skinhead and explained what I’d just seen saying “I think he’s had a few too many in the midday sun”.  Jase insisted we stay well back, just in case, but no sooner had we took a step forward the chap started to jump up and down on the spot!  We both looked at each nervously.  Clearly ‘Care in the Community’ were short staffed these days.  As my husband pulled me to the edge of the canal where we picked up pebbles to skim across the water, he kept one eye on the nut job.  After the jumping came the shadow boxing.  We watched as he started shouting profanities at invisible enemies and bouncing from left to right punching into the air.  It was apparent that he was more than just drunk. My husband let out a nervous hiss, “FFS” he said, “You can’t even go for an afternoon walk without fearing that you’re gunna get stabbed off some effin druggy chav”.  I could tell he was getting alarmed and to be honest so was I.  In fact, I was weighing up my sinkability in case he came leggin’ it towards us.  I’d be in that canal faster than you can say ‘Geronimo’. Then without warning he bolted!  Sprinting like a gazelle, he was off and within seconds out of sight. 

“OMG that’s not good, there’s a bridge up ahead what if he hides behind it? Jase I’m really scared now” Both Jase and I began speed walking following in his dusty trail and just before the bridge we could see that he had in fact continued up the towpath.  Phew, and thank god I didn’t have Daisy with me!

As we approached the bridge we decided this was our opportunity to cross the canal and hopefully be out of harms way.  At the apex of the bridge we looked out towards him and roared with (nervous) laughter.  This lad was now kickboxing with a young tree that was partially growing out of the canal wall.  The tree was wafting back and forth like a worthy opponent and it was making him angry.  Then all of a sudden he leapt at it which miraculously supported his whole body weight as it rapidly sprang over the canal.  So there he was hanging for dear life on what looked like a very frail branch.  With that we moved to the other side of the canal and agreed if he fell in…he fell in and we were NOT going to help him.   But by the time we were on the towpath opposite him he had unbelievably managed to get off and was now lay amongst the tree, now shredded.  As we proceeded to walk and were now adjacent to him, from the corner of my eye I saw a couple on bikes riding towards him.  I squeezed my husbands hand as we both saw him begin to rise as they slowed down.  I’ve never so felt uneasy.  As they dismounted and helped him to his feet the three of them began walking together.  They continued to walk up the canal with him despite as their effort to ride off were futile as he kept walking in front of them with his arms out.  Finally as we reached our exit on the towpath they were still walking with him towards the pub.  We decided against a pint in favour of life!

I’ve not seen anything in the papers about a killing by the canal so can I only presume they got home safe too but I tell you, that was one hell of a scary canal walk.  What has happened to today’s society when you can’t even go for an afternoon stroll without fearing for your life?

Love & kisses

Twiglette Piglette

panic on the streets of Walkden

My husband has advised me that no one will believe this event.  He said “No one will believe how careless one woman can be”…Obviously he knows bugger all about me then!  Saying that, after reading over this tale of sheer stupidity…he’s probably right.

TFI Friday.  It’s out first weekend sans Daisy in weeks and we have an epic 21^st party lined up.  It’s been in our diary for months and naturally I had a ‘totes amaze balls’ outfit lined up (thankfully no drama this time).  As the clock strikes 4.30pm ‘Big J’ is pacing the tiles waiting for me to log off and shut down.  “McDonalds for tea” he says proudly like lobster and champers will be on the menu.  I look at him, sigh and reply “Ever the romantic darling”.  As the golden arches come into view I remind my husband that we need to pick up a card and present for our beloved Scotty and that we should pop into TESCO after we have eaten. 

Food’s up and we’re sat on mustard coloured ‘Bond villain’ style swivel chairs discussing the latest work gossip before I’m interrupted with a text. Once we’ve finished eating, I pick up my phone and head for TESCO.  As my fella browses the shelves for some deeply inappropriate joke gift I peruse for the latest Moshi Monster and a black kohl pencil.  Once we’ve paid at the till we’re in the car en route home where I take the opportunity to create a hideous gothic/Amy Winehouse look on my eyelids saying “What do you think of this look baby” whilst cackling with laughter.

As we walk through the front door I kick off my shoes and a sudden wave of panic sweeps across me “OMG where’s my phone, where’s my phone” I scream. “Calm down! It will be in the car” my husband replies.  Tiny beads of sweat form on my forehead as I start to search the car frantically followed by a flashback of me putting my phone down on the self-service till. Holy shit balls, I’ve lost my phone…again.  (The first time was in a pub toilet where it fell from my back pocket when I was having a wee.  I only realised half way home and we had to turn back in the taxi.  Thankfully God was smiling down on me that day too!)  We jump back in the car, minus my shoes! And as my husband heads back to TESCO I snatched his phone; got TESCO’s number from directory enquires and rang to see if anyone had handed it in – no joy.  I rang my own number repeatedly until finally, 30 seconds from the car park the voice of an angel answered. “Yes I have your phone here” she says, it’s like music to my ears.  As we pull up to the sliding doors I sprint out the car and launch myself up the steps to TESCO and it’s only as I take the last step that I realise that I’m in the middle of a shopping centre with no shoes on and look like Alice Cooper in a floral skirt. WTF!  I don’t know what you think, but that is definitely not the get-up of your average sane person.  Once back in the car, I’m emotionally exhausted and greeted with the patronising comment of “You won’t be so lucky next time” and it would seem that the font of all knowledge is right again. Turd.

As we arrive home for the second time I open the boot of the car with a dismayed look on my face.  “Where’s my handbag J?” I ask confused.  “Handbag, I don’t know I haven’t seen it” he says.  Before he’s even finished his sentence I’m on all fours on the back seat, groping the carpet beneath the  chairs but there’s no handbag.  I don’t believe it; I can’t have, no, surely not.  But as the seconds tick by it becomes apparent that I have left handbag in McDonalds too.  My favourite handbag containing my cheque book, ALL my make-up, my LAST bottle of perfume, my NEW designer sunglasses, my work ID badge, my precious blog notes and a mirror Daisy bought me…all gone.  I looked at J, his face had changed to a popular primary colour and I swear I saw a little steam escape from his ears.  I think it’s fair to say he was NOT a happy bunny. I dare not write the obscenity that came from that mans mouth. I rang McDonalds with no avail.

So with no make-up and no perfume and no money to buy any, the evening plans were cancelled and we were a sorry pair sat on the couch with a bottle of red and a packet of Tangtastic Haribo’s.  What a bangin’ Friday night that turned out to be.

Love & kisses

Twiglette Piglette

to shave or not to shave...

Bonjour Mon Ami!

Apologies for the epic delay in supplying you with your weekly fix of my calamity lifestyle but I have been sunning myself in France.  However, never fear as I am here with a freshly baked batch of blogs…Enjoy!

Can you believe its summer again!  Where on earth does the year go?  I don’t know about you but the only thing summer means for me is France.  I remember the first time my husband and I planned to go on holiday, it was so exciting.  He wasn’t talking about your average city break with boutique stores and famous sites but about a 3 week road trip! Such fun! Of course we had the most amazing time and upon our return had the usual conversations of “oh we must go back” and “lets do it again next year” and we did…and the year after that and the year after that and yes you guessed it, the year after that (do I need to go on?)  I think someone needs to break it to this delicate flower that there is more than one holiday destination in the world! Perhaps I should have been less enthusiastic?

Anyway, for those of us who are lucky enough to holiday once a year I’m sure you’ll agree it’s not always as glamorous as those adverts make out (especially when you’re camping).  They never show how it really is, you know after that 12 hour drive where you step out the car bent double like an O.A.P, withered and parched, hair frazzled and stuck to your scalp with 2lb of make-up on your lap.  Then it’s too hot for make-up, too hot for hair-dryers and all that sand and chlorine. 

But what about all the pre-holiday prep we lovely ladies have to do; 2 weeks on the sunbed to acclimatise oneself, shaving and waxing, scrubbing and buffing not to mention the moisturising.  Is anyone else bored of being a bloody woman?  Honestly, men don’t even know they’re born!  But it’s the shaving and the waxing part that I’d like to bring to your attention here today.

There’s nothing worse than having to shave ones bits uber regularly whilst on holiday, it’s just a nightmare but I’m certainly not brave enough for waxing.  Having had it done once I’ll never do it again and I don’t want to hear any of that that bull about it not hurting.  Anyone who says it’s not painful has clearly had their pain receptors removed at birth.  So my remaining option would be hair removal cream and guess what?  I loved it!  I am a little shamed by the fact that I have made it to 32 and have only just discovered this miracle in a tube.  So having tried it out on ones furry areas I was most pleased with the results and this got me thinking…

Now I’m sure not many women like to admit this but as we get older we do unfortunately, like men (thought I’d get that in quick!), sprout the odd random hair here and there and I am no different.  In particular I’m talking about the dreaded tash! I know I know, it’s a sad affair but yes I can confirm that I too have a little lip fuzz.  I’m not talking Magnum P.I here for Gods sake nevertheless it’s totally unwanted and unwelcome and has to go!  I don’t want my husband to think he’s kissing a yard brush or worse case scenario – we get stuck together like Velcro! Oh the horror!

I digress.  So I thought right, let’s get a little of this new marvel on my top lip and “be gone oh evil fuzz”.  Of course it’s a delicate operation and so I just slapped it on and set the timer for 5 minutes.  5 minutes in and I’m analysing the handle bar moustache of pink cream before whipping it off with a wet flannel.  I watch as my smile starts to fade, the results weren’t quite what I expected.  Yes the fuzz was gone but so were about 12 layers of skin! In place of the handle bar moustache of pink cream was now just a red raw imprint of a handle bar moustache and the tips of my cupids bow (the two points at the top of your top lip) were complete burnt off!  Then came the stinging, the burning, the bleeding and the twitching – oh yes twitching!  For three days after my top lip twitched like it was having a mini stroke every 15 minutes.  I think it’s fair to say I shit myself although thankfully not literally ‘cos that would have only made matters worse.  I didn’t know what to do?  At first I covered my mouth with Vaseline to relieve the pain then run to tell my fella to have him watch for the twitches just to make sure I wasn’t going mad!  But he saw them too, they were so scary.  I whipped out my ‘fablet’ (fabulous phone/tablet) and typed “twitching lips”.  I won’t even tell you what filth I had to look through before I found the NHS site!  It turns out I’d damaged the nerves with the hair removal cream but thankfully they would return to normal within a week.  That’s definitely another first and last for me, I think I’ll stick with my tweezers!

Love & kisses

Twiglette Piglette