Doggie Diazepam

I really don’t like Monday’s. That first day back after the weekend. It’s always busy and everyone has the Monday blues and would rather be back in bed. I especially don’t like Monday’s when I have to go to work when I’ve only had three hours sleep. The reason I only had three hours sleep is courtesy of my lovely Labrador….. however lovely is not how I would of described her at 2am this morning.

So it’s Sunday night, its around 10.30pm and I decide I’d better go to bed. I let the cats out for the night, lock the doors switch everything off and head up to bed. The dog decides to stay downstairs as she appears to be all comfy on the sofa. So I hop into my lovely cosy bed put the TV on timer and get all warm and cosy. Just as I’m drifting off to sleep I hear the dog start wimpering from downstairs. I ignore her for 10 minutes but then the wimpering starts to turn into whining and then after another 10 minutes we start with the full blown barking. Up I get and downstairs to find her sitting looking all forlorn by the door. Someone needs to relieve themselves. The only problem being, is my dog will not do her business in her own garden, which is marvellous as you never end up taking the bins out and end up knee deep in dog shit. However I wouldn’t of cared last night at 11.30pm when you’re in your pyjamas and just want to go to sleep.

Right, open the door and let her out and hope that just for once, she’ll do her business quite happily over by the weeds. The ones you were planning on killing off, but never got round to it and now frankly cant be arsed. No. She sits at the gate whining, so not wanting her to start into a full blown barking episode and wake up the entire neighbourhood, I pull on my boots grab a coat and throw it on over my pyjamas and I’m out the door.

There’s no lights on anywhere apart from the street lamps. Every sensible person is in bed fast asleep preparing for dreaded Monday morning. Not wandering the streets in her pyjamas with knee high boots looking a bit like a cross between Rupert the bear and a character out of Fraggle rock. We wander up the road, the dog sniffing every single blade of grass until I hear this wailing coming from behind a wall. Surprise surprise its one of my cats. I say Cats but for those of you who know me well, my cats are not the normal size of a domestic cat. They look more like the offspring of a Saber tooth tiger. They do not miaow softly to come in, they do a full on wail, slightly resembling the sound of a strangling scene from a horror film. So the cat decides to come with us. So I now have a whining dog, a wailing cat and would like to point out Pavarotti owl from my last sleepless night is still in the tree outside my house clearing its throat for its next performance.

The dog still hasn’t done her business, so after 10 minutes we turn round and head back towards the house. It feels like there’s something above my head I look up just in time to see a swarm of bats swooping towards my face. I’ve never really seen a lot of Bats before apart from when one got stuck in my house once and my boyfriend at the time thought it was just a large moth. Well I tell you, these bats were not like moths more like bloody terrordactyls who seemed to be taking a fancy to my head and making high pitched squeeking noises. So there I am, now running along the road to get away from the flock of squeaking bats, with the wailing cat and the dog who’s barking at the bats and the cat ,but still hasn’t managed to open its bowels which is the whole reason why I’m standing here like bloody Dr.Doolittle in my pyjamas at God knows what bloody time at night.

We go back home. I’m knackered. The dog is still wimpering the cat settles down and I head off back to bed. The dog starts barking again, then wimpering then back to barking. This routine goes on for the next two hours. Its so bad that I actually do some ironing to pass the time. Its now gone 3am and delirium has set in. I am now so tired. I now believe my dog knows something I don’t. They say animals can sense things….. maybe there’s aliens about to invade earth, zombies have taken over the whole of Yorkshire or someone’s shot Donald trump…..maybe not so far fetched.

The last time I looked at the clock it was 3.28am. I woke up to my alarm clock going off at 6.20am, curled up next to a peaceful looking sound asleep dog. I’m so tired I think I may need sellotape to hold up my eyelids. Ironically the dog wont wake up. Not even for food which is totally unheard of. She wont even get up to go for a walk before I head off to try and make it through a day at work without falling asleep on my patients.

But tonight as I write this, the dog is sound asleep, the cat is curled up next to her and I am heading to bed before I pass out. Everything is peaceful and calm. Here’s to a full 8 hours sleep fingers crossed. I wonder if they do doggie diazepam?…………..Goodnight x















Have children they said. It’ll be great they said. Parenthood is the best thing you can ever do they said. What ‘they’ didn’t say is that the lovely, cute gorgeous bundle you hold in your arms will eventually grow up. Then God help you.

After 9 months of sickness, swollen legs, waddling around like a weeble and not daring to sit on a sofa when you’re home alone as you’ll never get up again, eventually this absolute bundle of joy enters your world and you’ve never felt so much love in your entire life. This little being becomes your whole world. You bond, you laugh you play together, have days out and lots of cuddles and you are the best thing in their little lives. They couldn’t imagine not being with you and cry when you leave them. You are their world and vice versa.

So one night when your lovely sweet natured child is about 12 years old, after doing homework or watching a film, they come and give you a kiss goodnight and a hug and the usual ‘love you, sweet dreams’ and off they tot to bed. Que morning and your sweet and gentle mannered child appears. Or so you think. But no. That child no longer exists and has been replaced by what can only be described as one big walking hormone doing their best impression of Jack Nicholson from the shining crossed with Chucky from child’s play.

Don’t dare speak or even breathe a good morning as your head will be bitten off from  across the other side of the room and you will be frozen to death on the spot from the ice cold stare for attempting to offer them some breakfast. Be prepared to be on standby for meltdowns ranging from any minor thing as buying the wrong type of cornflakes to having hysterics because they’ve run out of fake tan.

Do not attempt to enter their bedrooms as you will get lost in amongst the rubbish and dirty washing and need to send for the air rescue service to come and find you. You will no longer be allowed to be seen out together in public as if you are, you will be reprimanded for walking to loudly, breathing too much and God forbid, talking to other human beings. Your title as ‘parent’ will no longer be used but replaced by ‘chauffer, cash machine, cook and waiter. You will be able to appreciate the many different types of ‘eye rolling’ that is possible and the amount of times one person can slam a door in the space of thirty seconds at the mere mention of tidying up or the word ‘homework’.

So to sum up………. We are all doomed. But on the bright side there is always alcohol. Here’s to my liver surviving the next four to five years. Cheers x


I am very tired. This is due to three reasons, Birds, pets and a teenager.

10.15pm last night and the teenager who is not feeling well decides that for the first time since she discovered wifi, ipads, and mobile phones she wanted to sleep with her mum as she wasn’t feeling well. Now bearing in mind the last time the teenager wanted to sleep in mummy’s bed she was very cute and the size of one of Santa’s helpers. The teenager now happens to be bigger than me but still sleeps as if she is a toddler. Starfished across the entire bed, with about an inch of mattress for me to get comfy.

So after managing to fall asleep scrunched up in the foetus position I start to doze off into a nice peaceful sleep when I am woken with a start by Twit twooing  of an owl with what can only be described as the lung capacity of Pavarotti. This owl appears to have made his home in the tree right in front of my house and proceeded to serenade the night with the owl version of Nessun Dorma until about 3am.

Silence. The bird of prey Pavarotti impersonator appears to have stopped for an interval. Marvellous. Right, as the teenager has slept through the owls opera and is now quite happily fast asleep I  to move into her bed as she wont notice I’m gone. Lovely. Comfort at last. I’m just nodding off to be woken by the dog who heard me get up and now think’s its time to get up and go for a walk. So up I get, let dog out to empty her bladder and wearily climb back up the stairs get back into teenagers bed now accompanied by the dog and fall asleep.

3.52am. I wake up feeling my breathing restricted to find the cat asleep on my face. Move cat then spend the next 10 minutes trying to remove cat hair from my nostrils. Right, back to sleep. Lovely………. ‘MUM….MUM….MUM!!!! The teenagers awake and now climbing back into her bed and assumes the starfish position. Great. Foetal position it is again then……and sleep.

5.38am. I am awake courtesy of the three pigeons who have taken up residence on my roof and are now what sounds like, auditioning for a part in the pigeons amateur dramatic society production of River dance. THAT’S IT. SOD IT. I may as well get up. So up I get…. Teenager, Dog and cat don’t even stir. Typical. Go downstairs, switch TV on to be greeted by Piers Morgan and Donald Trump. Fantastic. My life is now complete.

8.10pm. I’m now off to bed. No teenager. No Pets and no Birds courtesy of a pair of ear plugs. Goodnight all.

Krypton Women


Housework. Isn’t it a joy. I seem to spend my life charging around trying to tidy up only for it to be a complete and utter mess again 24 hours later. The dog seems to malt at the rate of 20 billon hairs per second followed close behind by the cats who drop hair by just yawning. Paw prints all over the newly mopped floor and dog toys strewn all over the lounge and up the stairs after the mad game of chase the cats then raids the bin on an hourly basis leaving  the contents strewn across the kitchen. The teenager lives in her cave upstairs generally consisting of wet towels flung across the  floor, dirty washing thrown at the wash basket landing on the floor, make- up smeared across the dressing table, fake tan all over the carpet and about 20 thousand used cups bowels and plates piled up next to the bed.

Now as much as I like a tidy and clean house it never stays like that no matter how hard I try. There are these woman who can blink and there house is like a show home. We all must know what I’m talking about. These woman who have 5 kids, 2 dogs, a pony a full time job and still manage to have a lovely clean and sparkling house. These women are Super Human. A distant relative of Superman. I like to call them Krypton Women. I have a friend like this. You try and catch them out and call round unannounced and the house will be immaculate. It is so tidy you can even see your reflection in the kitchen tiles. Nothing is out of place, there is not even a dirty cup in the brilliantly bleached sink. No overflowing wash baskets, the dogs are all fast asleep in their beds and the children are all playing nicely and even put their toys away.  The beds are all made and the bedding is even IRONED. Yes you heard right…IRONED. (Ironing is the devils work… but that’s another story) There is no ironing pile either as this is all ironed immediately and put away. These woman don’t even have a ‘Crap’ drawer. I have about twelve. The drawers where you put everything you don’t know what to do with, chuck it in and forget about it. And lets not even get  started on the garden.

My mother is a Krypton woman. You can see her house glimmering with polish on google earth. She can spot a spec of dirt from 500 miles away. You go to my mums and have to cling onto your cup of tea. It is a matter of life and death. NEVER put your cup down and nip to the loo. By the time you get back your brew is down the sink and the cup washed up, dried and put away. The woman hoovers three times a day even under the sofas and NEVER loses Tupperware lids. I do not appear to have inherited any of these super human domestic powers. I have tried for the last 15 years but it nearly put me into a medically induced coma after attempting to use the hoover twice in one week.

So there we are. I am definetly not from Krypton. I spend my life covered in dog hair, sleeping in un-ironed bedding, routing through crap drawers and picking up wet towels off the floor. But that’s ok. We are who we are and everyone is different. Life would be pretty damn boring if we were all the same. So I will admire these Krypton women from afar as I drink more wine.

Cheers Ladies x

Squirrel Gate

So today didn’t get off to the best start. It started as per normal with the usual twenty five cups of tea or else I have no ability to be able to string a sentence together let alone deal with the general public. Breakfast, shower, wake up teenager then run away from teenager to escape either mood swing, grunting or slamming of doors at the mere mention of getting out of bed. I Grab dog lead and coax dog out of door with dog biscuits and proceed to walk to the lovely spa gardens for a pleasant morning stroll.

What a lovely morning. Sun is shining, birds are singing, all is well with the world……..until dog spy’s squirrel.  At this point dog, still on the lead, runs after said squirrel who scrambles up the nearest tree, leaving dog with me attached to the other end of the lead dragged 10 metres along the grass and head first into a pile of swept up fallen leaves and cut grass.  Now I have to mention that normally at this time in a morning no one is ever in spa gardens. I never see another sole. But NO, not THIS morning. Every man, dog, woman and child happens to be in there today. So there I am, resembling  Worzel Gummage spitting out mouthfuls of grass while my 30 kilogram Labrador is attempting to climb the tree whilst the squirrel is quite happily sitting eating his nuts and what looks like to my dazed mind….giving the finger.

Lessons learnt: Don’t go back into Spa gardens. In fact don’t leave the house. Ever. Again.



Here goes

So I keep being told I should start a blog, as apparently my lovely facebook friends keep telling me I’m rather funny. So…. Here is my Blog. As you can probably tell I have no idea what I am doing, and have spent most of the afternoon shouting and swearing at the laptop, swearing at myself, the dog and Tony Blair who appeared on the tv taking about Brexit. To be fair I don’t need to be annoyed at my lack of computer skills to shout and swear at Tony Blair, it just happens automatically a bit like having some form of politically induced tourettes.  Anyway after a walk with the dog in the rain and a few wines I have finally managed to figure out what I’m doing. I Think. So here it is. A general blog about life. Or my life. And the bizarre and random things that tend to happen in it as I trawl through life trying to figure out what the hell I’m doing, accompanied with a sarcastic teenager, 2 cats, a dog who eats everything and barks at cheese graters and a mother who still believes I’m 12 and brings me clothes pegs, cauliflowers and tubs of frozen gravy.

So once Ive got up and running and one day might actually figure out how all this works…please feel free to read and hopefully laugh and find out that maybe these things happen to you…or mabe not unless you end up being invited to random funerals, meet people called Judith urinating in the woods or have dog that licks strangers bottoms then I think your pretty safe.

Cheers….here’s to more wine.


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