Thursday, August 31, 2006

Caroline Meets Collette Vipond

What sounded like a good idea at the time was causing Caroline to rush to get out. It was half past five on Friday afternoon, and tonight she was meeting a friend in Leeds for a night out on the tiles.

A couple of days before her mobile beeped and it was a message from Tania, a girl she went to college with years ago – who had long sinced moved away from her tyrannical mother and was apparently working in Nottingham.

She was going to be in Manchester on Friday til about 7 – “Do you have time for a quick drink?”

Caroline thought that she may as well, it’ll be a way of killing a couple of hours til she gets her train – she hadn’t seen Tania for a while, and would be nice to see what she was up to.

She walked down the street and saw Tania waving at her, beside her sat a mousey looking girl with her hair held back with a pink scrunchie.

Neither of them stood up when Caroline walked over.

“Hi Caroline… How are you?... It’s been ages! This is Collette, by the way, my girlfriend”

“Hey Collette… What you both drinking”

Collette held her hand over her glass while Tania spoke.

“Just two diet cokes please… I’m on medication”

“What sort of medication? Do you want a drink Collette?”

“Collette’s not allowed, and I can’t because I’m on tablets… antidepressents” Tania said ominously.

Caroline stepped inside the bar and sniggered to herself – this poor Collette bitch sure was pussywhipped if Tania wasn’t allowing her to drink – and as for Tania – Friday’s highlight must be washing a couple of antidepressants down with diet coke.

Her vodka redbull tasted good, she looked at Collette who was sipping her diet coke through a straw. “Tania…. I need the toilet” Collette said.

Caroline couldn’t help but giggle – “You don’t need to ask her fucking permission dalin’ – just go!”

No longer had she stopped speaking but Collette put her hands down on the arms of the chair and pushed herself up, and round onto a wheelchair which was sitting slightly out of view before wheeling herself into the bar.

“Why’s she in a wheelchair?”
“She’s got cerebal palsy” replied Tania “I care for her”
“We have a full and active life as a couple” Tania added defiantly.

A couple of hours later in Leeds, Caroline recounted the tale over her fourth vodka redbull.

“In a wheelchair?!” Laura asked incredulously.
“Yes! She’s shagging a spastic!”

“Well she is isn’t she – that Tania had a job in Nottingham going shopping for disabled people, and one of them was this Collette Vipond – she was propably used to going to Morrisons for pensioners with pissy knickers!”

“So she met her through work?”
“Yeah, that Collette’s only about 25, more or less the same age as Tania”
“Bloody hell!” Laura took a drag from her cigarette.

“You see that Tania always denied she was a dyke, but at the end of the day with her hair that short it’s a bit of a giveaway”
“They mustn’t get up to much”

“Apparently she hoists her up on the bed”

© 2006

Tuesday, August 22, 2006

The Snideness of Festivals:

I was forwarded a link about last weekend's V Festival in Staffordshire where festivalgoers have been charged £10 for a programme to inform them when and where bands are playing - there being no other way to find out.

Other rip off charges include chargeable cashpoints, £7 cheeseburgers, and the rip off to end all rip offs, a couple had a £1.50 disposable barbeque confiscated by security on their way into the festival, only to find the same type of barbeque for sale within the festival for £10.

And this is the reason why I stay away from festivals - the concept of "festivals" pisses me off big time, stemming from a train journey back from Leeds three years ago.

Two fresher type student girls were talking loudly in to each other whilst sat next to each other and adjacent to me about the merits of different boys with names like Ollie and Piers as well as their plans for the summer.

These two girls conversations were almost from another planet - their conversation so irritatingly naive that I was tempted to jump from the train at Stalybridge, when they started whining about their allowance from Mummy and Daddy, I wanted to scream. This was before they started showing each other items from Harvey Nicks bags which had been put "on Daddy's Amex".

Their next conversation went along the lines of this:

"Which festivals are you going to this year Tamsin?"
"I'm going to all the festivals Tabby"

Never in my life have I had stilletto rage like I felt then, but then I immediately realised that festivals are nothing more than a cash cow to extract money from gullable middle class types with a neverending limit on Daddy's Amex.

I'm sorry, but I do not wish to pay £2.50 for a bottle of lukewarm Volvic that I could have brought with me for a fifth of the price, as I don't buy into the "officially organised" bollocks that goes with it.

The fact that the majority of people rolled over and bought into the "officially organised" bollocks leaves me saddened but not surprised.

I believe that going to see a few bands with some nice food and drinks is a great experience, but if you have the sense to bring these from home, they will be confiscated by the festival gestapo at the door, and you will have to spend three hours queueing for tokens to then take to the bar queue - if you're peckish then be prepared to shell out £15 for a couple of burgers.

What utter shit.

Monday, August 21, 2006

Spotted On The Metrolink

Last week coming back from work was this gentleman.

I have no idea what the significance is of his attire.


Thursday, August 17, 2006

Kiss This Thing Goodbye

It's been a busy few weeks for me - two weeks after returning from my Bulgarian adventure, it was time for me to fly down to Brighton for the weekend.

To get myself suitably in the mood I had ordered series one of Sugar Rush from Amazon so that I could slip into a suitably Brighton state of mind.

Brighton was, up until last week, a largely unexplored part of the country, my seven years in Mancunia have served to make me believe my own hype, and that there isn't much that can't be done in Manchester - and if there's someone where one can do it, it's grudgingly and quietly accepted as London.

The journey itself was made an adventure, thanks to one of my best friends who appointed herself as "Brighton Tour Baggage Monitor" and I recieved a text message the night before hoping I'd abandoned any silly ideas of taking the largest suitcase I owned.

Upon arrival at Manchester Airport, I strolled in with my smallest suitcase I own - a similar one to what one sees trolly dollies trailing after them even when they're stood at a bus stop in Stretford.

My friend was waiting there (with baited breath I imagine) with a small pink rucksack, which she said breezily to the check-in boy "I only have carry on baggage".

Bear in mind this was over a week ago, and only days before the terrorist threat which still has our Airports by the balls - as Barbara Cartland would say.

I can't even begin to imagine my friend's reaction if she had to empty her hairdryer, GHD, makeup, tampax etc into clear plastic bags to carry onto the plane.

I digress - the Jet2 check in boy - who barely spoke a word of English told my friend that her luggage was too big to be considered as hand luggage and she would have to check in her bag after all.

So needless to say everyone checked in their bags and headed straight through to the Cafe Rouge on the airside for a quick sherry before the flight. Imagine our surpirse when we saw Hollyoaks - In The City actress Gemma Atkinson boarding the same flight.

I am still undecided what to think of this, as we paid less than £40 for return tickets to Gatwick, and surely Hollyoaks are paying Miss Atkinson enough to fly to London club class on BA? Is she trifty with her pennies, or is she just tight? In fact - don't answer that as I very much doubt she is.

At Gatwick, my case caused commotion on the carousel due to it moving about of it's own accord. One of my friends picked the case up off the carousel and said to me "Your suitcase is vibrating... what on earth have you got in it?" in front of all the passengers of flight JE221 from Manchester, including Miss Atkinson.

I tried to explain that I'd bought my partner and I these new Oral B toothbrushes with the vibrating bristles - these both had went off in the case whilst the baggage handlers of Gatwick manhandled my case.

Having dealt with the Ann Summers of suitcases, we made it to Brighton, sharing a house off St James Street, which couldn't have been better located.

Being something of a tapas affectionado I thought that the six of us could have a few drinks round Brighton, then end the night with a little bit of this and that.

The one thing which made me warm to Brighton was how the whole city was mixed use - council tower blocks sit beside £1m detached Georgian seafront houses in amongst an array of bars, shops, dentists surgeries and sex shops.

In Manchester, only the lucky few are able to afford city living - being someone who has once held an M1 postcode, I appreciate the benefits of being so close to everything are so apparent, the only downside coming in the form of identikit graduate neighbours, or Dan/Ollie/Piers types living off Mama's gold card.

I haven't put my house on the market yet, although I have been checking out

Thoroughly enjoyed the time I spent down there, didn't take many photos though, which I usually do when i go away anywhere, so just got a pic of the Pier sign taken from my phone.

Thursday, August 10, 2006

Michelle: Pregnant To Sayed.

Michelle Dewbury, winner of BBC2's The Apprentice is pregnant with the child of Asian Apprentice contestant, Sayed Ahmed.

Having been an avid viewer of The Apprentice I now wonder where this leaves Michelle vis-à-vis her £100,000 p/a job with Sir Alan Sugar. Michelle started her prize job in May this year, and now she has recently announced her pregnancy - surely she has not qualified for maternity pay yet? It also raises the question of responsibility - is she going to give up her career to raise her child?

Thousands of people applied to become The Apprentice, however Michelle has now played straight into her critics hands by leaving Sayed's willy inside too long. Initially she was seen as a dizzy blonde who didn't possess the business acumen and drive that Ruth Badger did - the type of girl who would give the boss a cheeky BJ to obtain a pay rise.

Sir Alan must be wringing his hands by this point - he has been thoroughly hoodwinked. Ruth Badger's lesbianism would almost have guaranteed her never having to walk in and say:

"Sir Alan, I've missed my period".
"Are you sure?"
"Without a shadow of a doubt"

I also have to question the motives of the terminally sleazy Sayed - who was convinced he would win the series. Having impregnated Michelle, this gets him closer to the action he initially craved. If she wasn't so stupid, I would be feeling very sorry for Michelle indeed.

Tuesday, August 01, 2006

Caroline's Protégé

In the absence of a newspaper I decided to look online for my daily dose of tittle-tattle, and to my astonishment came across the following story:,,2-2006350222,00.html

It transpires that Jade Goody is a regular user of disabled parking spaces, so much so that she even waits for a disabled space to become free before taking it.

When she returned to her car, she found it festooned in parking tickets which she tore off and promply thown them in the bin where they belong.

I have never been a fan of Jade Goody, but this story has made me see her in a new light, a champion of egalitarian parking across the UK.

She knows as well as the next person that approximately 87% of disabled badge holders do not have any physical or mental disability - scenarios I have witnessed have been a girl of 25 using her Gran's disabled badge so she can park in Manchester City Centre as often as she likes, on a free of charge basis.

Wilst the national press may lambast Jade Goody, I for one salute her, in the hope she visits my local supermarket.
Your Personality Is Like Cocaine
You're dynamic, brilliant, and alluring to those who don't know you. Hyper and full of energy, you're usually the last one to leave a party. Sometimes your sharp mind gets the better of you... you're a bit paranoid!
What Drug Is Your Personality Like?