Our 2011 Center Parcs Holiday

I'm not going to go through all the pros and cons of Center Parcs [Sherwood Forest] because I've already done it in a previous post. I wouldn't even have bothered writing this were it not for my grumpy old man's latest faux pas.

I will however, mention that this time we stayed [eight of us] in an executive lodge rather than one of those cheaper peasant sheds [I really must stop calling them that, it's rubbing off]. We had four en-suite bedrooms, two with big rainforest showers and two with posh baths that lit up and blew bubbles up your bum.

All of the bedrooms had LCD TV's, as did the games room and lounge area. Two of the bedrooms had balconies with tables and chairs, plus - in my case - damp towels and my camera tripod. We also had our own sauna - phew, was it hot in there!

Again we had maid service, which we didn't avail ourselves of - apart from towel changes - this is because we decided that we were far too untidy to let the maid in. It'd be no good any of my family getting rich and having staff to 'do' for them because they wouldn't know how not to tidy up first. I would, however - being a bit [ok, a lot] more domestically challenged than the rest of my family - be prepared to get used to having cleaning staff if I come in to money.

Anyway, on to the reason for me writing this short ... er, biography. You know, it always starts off as one paragraph or at the most two ... then I get carried away:

Ahem, my GOM's latest 'foot in mouth' came when we were in the swimwear shop next to the dome, I'd been in the day before - after a few splashes around the rapids - and spotted a tankini I liked but wasn't carrying any money. This time I was going to try and hopefully buy - to add it to my collection of [six] others.

The only one in my size was gone, boo hoo. I turned to grumpy and said ... 'Somewhere in there [pointing to the dome and waggling my finger], there's a fat woman walking around in my tankini!'

Reply ... 'yes there is' ...

My Lips Are Sealed

Well, very nearly sealed.

It has come to my attention that a large piece of junk - namely a long tube thing with windows, doors and big wheels, but doesn't run on the road - has been moved from a certain spot nearby to another spot ... er, nearby. Lovely

Apparently it may be there for some time as the means of shifting it are - at the moment - somewhat, ahem, none existent.

Seeing as enquiries have been made about missing bits and the uniformed enquirers have been made aware of my blog. I thought it'd be best if I said nowt ... hmm.

I do hope that no-one is in any way trying to blame me for having mentioned - in passing - this place with lots of metallic stuff hanging about. Because it's not my fault if some tight-wad won't pay for security, and is then somewhat surprised when some naughty people have popped in and helped themselves ...

How Very Dare They!

My signed copy of Sir Terry Pratchett's Snuff

I was all excited this morning waiting for the post as I'd received an email last night telling me that my signed copy of 'Snuff' was on its way.

I'd just finished munching on my cereals and was drinking my cuppa while catching up with local news on my shiny newest toy [an android jobby], when I heard a knock then a voice asking ... 'are they in next door?'

I dashed off up the entry shouting ... 'yes they're in next door!' I signed for my 'Snuff' - it's my birthday present to me - while the post woman sorted out the rest of our mail.

There it was, for all the world and her neighbour to see - well me and the post woman actually. But if I was at all sensitive instead of armour-plated by my grumpyness, I'd have been mortified.

A bill? you may think, hmm, well there was one letter asking me for money ... fat chance.

No, it was a big letter from that effin shop I keep moaning about, wanting me to take out OVER 50's life cover. Bog off Asda, it's never going to happen!

Now, if it had been a nice, pretty envelope - keep the green, it's my favourite colour - with the suggested 'special birthday offer inside'. I'd have just thought ... 'Who the hell told 'em it's nearly my birthday?'

But no, there's an ignorant statement right at the top of the envelope, suggesting that I am over 50 - in writing big enough for me to see without my glasses, even with my presbyopic eyesight - and therefore am desperate for life cover because I'm so old that no insurance company will touch me with a bargepole.

And so what if I am hovering around the 50 mark, I've been told by someone tactful - yes, they are well trained - that I don't look it, but now the whole of Royal Mail knows I'm chuffin old as well as grumpy!!

Here's news for you Asda - I don't want life insurance, I'm officially a grumpy old woman lady, who enjoys scaring the pants off her family by telling each of them - individually - that I'm going to their sole responsibility and that I like OAK! ...

Langley Mill Roadworks Autumn 2011

I've just had a google alert ... you know the sort - where 'Langley Mill' and 'Asda' are mentioned in the same sentence ... mostly with a direct link towards some mad drivel [ie written by me].

But this time it was about the final phase of the gas mains revamp that affects Station Road and Cromford Road, so thought I'd provide a link to the website with the information - I get nicer every day.

Info about using links - in case you're technologically challenged - is on the interesting, informative side bit of my blog ...

Knitting, Working And Daddy-Long-Leg Sandwiches

I have rekindled my relationship with an old hobby, namely knitting. Now this does not mean I churn out fifty odd chunky knit cardi's on a weekly basis - like some people I know - no, all it means it that I knit the same scarf at least eight [and rising] times.

Why? You may well ask, well:

1. It's enormous fun.
2. I get so far and realise it won't be long enough so cast on fewer stitches.
3. I've found a way to make the expensive stuff eke out ... because - answers on a post it please - either ... a) I'm a genius or b) I grudgingly took a friend's  advice.

I'm not completely alone in this loony knit-fest, my next door but one caravan neighbour is far worse with these scarves and she's a proper knitter!

It was while knitting my first scarf for the - probable - sixth time that I became aware that I was knitting a few daddy-long-legs into it ... this was not mentioned in the knitting pattern! So I removed them ... er, oops ... their legs.

I had never in my life seen so many daddy-long-legs - this was at Skeggy, I've seen none since we got home - it became impossible to take a deep breath for fear of sucking one in. I heard my GOM coughing and clearing his throat a few times and can only assume that he'd forgotten to breathe through his nose.

I was working one morning, peering through my magnifying light - as you do - when I briefly looked away. When I looked back at the teeny weeny thing I'd picked up, I nearly knocked the lamp over, tipped the table up and chucked the lot on the floor [all in one movement]. Not only was my spira-doo-dah there to be inspected, I was also clutching - between left thumb and forefinger - a chuffin ENORMOUS daddy-long-legs! I'm not afraid of them, nor spiders, but unexpectedly close up, lit up and magnified is not nice.

A couple of days later while all packed up ready for home and waiting for the cat, my grumpy old man decided to make a sandwich. This was to either eat there if pussykins didn't turn up at a reasonable time, or take with us for a snack on the way home. The little bugger - cat, not grumpy - has a habit of turning up at just the wrong time so we're starving by the time we get home.

Anyway, time was moving on, the cat watched us playing bowls behind the tin hut - at a safe you-can't-reach-me-from-there-ner-ner-ne-ner-ner distance - when we decided to go in and eat.

Mmmmm, ham and daddy-long-leg sandwiches ... well I found one leg in the mayonnaise - between the ham and the lettuce. And the rest of it - well it's too late now ...

McDonalds Not In Langley Mill ... Again

I have updated in a previous post that the application to build a McDonalds on CJ Cars was refused planning permission because highways said it wasn't safe  - or words to that effect. I did mention this very fact a while back and it would have saved them a lot of manpower and money if they'd only take notice of me.

I updated an old post rather than write a separate one because I found the information by reading another blog - as it wasn't mentioned at AVBC - so wasn't really my information to share.

However, I notice by search terms being used and the subsequent pages being read, that people are still arriving at my oldest post referring to McDonalds and going no further, therefore missing the latest updates - a woman can get fed-up of linking several posts - so I decided to give in and write this and provide a link to where I originally got my info from.

Now go and look there ...

Ignorance Is Bliss

We'd been back from the tin hut by the sea for a few days but had relatively little to moan about - apart from the usual Asda wa**ers  keeping me awake in the night, and yes Bernard I finally gave in and tried earplugs but I couldn't hear anything, so had to get rid of them - the main reason for the lack of grumpiness is that I've had lots of work to do in rather a hurry, and so was cocooned in my own little bubble, totally cut off from the outside ... during this glorious weather [so I heard] boo hoo, sob.

Of course I emerged from behind my magnifying lamp eventually [Saturday] and truly wished I hadn't, it was much nicer being oblivious to Langley Mill's youff-dom.

First of all we'd returned from a family visit and we were reading a notice - about footpaths 53 and Pottery Lane - that had been attached to Mr HH's fence, but some cretin decided it needed pulling off. I waited while my grumpy old man attempted to reattach it.

During this I heard one of those mini-motorbike whatstits whizzing along Pottery Lane, and then I watched in amazement as this head went backwards and forwards - at speed - down the ramp onto Bridge Street, finally revealing itself as the tw*t on the bike. Me being me and not at all being able to keep my mouth shut, I shouted ... 'this is a footpath, not a motorbike route'.

This surly teenager totally ignored my remonstration and stopped just short of running into me. I then said ... 'I suppose you expect me to move for you' ... reply 'grunt' ... 'well, I'm not'. He had actually got a voice other than the customary teenage grunt, as he said he'd go in front of me... which he did, almost running my GOM over - while he was still farting about with that bloody notice. The youff then carried on a third of the way down Bridge Street and up an entry ... I've no idea who he is.

Having now been let loose from my workspace I decided to reacquaint myself with 'bigjobs' my super computer, this meant being in the spare room for an hour or two, tut, what a mistake. If I were anywhere else I wouldn't be able to witness more twa**ing youffs trying to break things on HH land. I may start locking myself away in a cupboard somewhere.

Much later, after examining the contents - or lack of - in my fridge, freezer and cupboards, I announced to grumpy that I was off to - begrudgingly - spend some money at that biggish corner shop just over the way. He came with me to carry my debit card.

Just before we got to our peasants ramp up to Asda we passed four girls, all about twelve or thirteen years old, pleasant and giggly, but I could have knocked their heads together ... or glared at my GOM for doing it [we've all inherited this 'glare' from my mother - it's horrible].

It ... being walk on the road to go around them as they steadfastly stuck to walking four abreast ... not me, oh no, I've finally realised who the tw*ts are, and it's us for moving out of their way, time and time again, this time I was prepared to clash elbows and anything else that got in my way as I walked along the edge of the kerb [yes I know, I'm still making way for them].

This is NOT purely a Langley Mill phenomenon as it is much discussed amongst us - tin hut dwellers - at Winthorpe [Skeggy]. We have compared notes on numerous occasions about how we automatically shift out of the way.

I was brought up to ALWAYS move for anyone older than myself - which at my age is getting increasingly more difficult - this included giving up my seat on a bus as well as moving to one side while walking along a street. To be honest I've probably forgotten how old I am when I get out of the way, but not any more!

In future, if anyone younger than me expects me to move to one side for them, they're in for a shock, cos I'm not moving - hmm, this is all supposing I remember [being my age means I'm forgetful - apparently]. In fact, just to make sure I get in someone's way, I'm off out right now to stand in the middle of a pavement somewhere ...

Letter To Mr Cameron

I received this email recently and found myself nodding and agreeing to just about everything, so I thought I'd share it with those who haven't received it yet:

Dear Mr Cameron,
      Please find below our suggestion for fixing the UK's economy.

Instead of giving billions of pounds to banks that will squander the money on lavish parties and unearned bonuses, use the following plan:

You can call it the 'Patriotic Retirement Plan'.

There are about 10 million people over the age of fifty in the workforce.
Pay them £1 million each [yes please] severance for early retirement with the following stipulations:

1. They MUST retire ... 10 million job openings - unemployment fixed
2. They MUST buy a British car ... 10 million car orders - car industry fixed.
3. They MUST either buy a house or pay off their mortgage - housing crisis fixed.
4. They MUST send their kids to school/college/university - crime rate fixed.
5. They MUST buy £100 worth of alcohol/tobacco a week [hmm?] ... And there's your money back in duty/tax etc.

It can't be any easier than that! If more money is needed, have all members of parliament pay back their falsely claimed expenses and second home allowances.

Also:

Let's put the pensioners in jail and the criminals in a nursing home.
This way the pensioners would have access to showers, hobbies and walks.
They'd get  free dental treatment and eye care.
They'd receive money instead of paying it out.
They'd receive special diets on religious grounds.
They would have constant video monitoring, so they could be helped instantly, if they fell or needed assistance.
Bedding would be washed twice a week and all clothing would be washed, ironed and returned to them.

A guard would check on them every 20 minutes and bring their meals and snacks to their cell.
They would have family visits in a suite built for that purpose.
They would have access to a library, weight room, spiritual counselling, pool and education.
Simple clothing, shoes, slippers, PJ's and legal aid would be free, on request.
Private, secure rooms for all, with an exercise outdoor yard, with gardens.
Each senior could have a PC, a TV, radio and daily phone calls.

There would be a board of directors to hear complaints, and the guards would have a code of conduct that would be strictly adhered to.

The criminals would get cold food, be left all alone and unsupervised. Laid wet and sore in a stinking bed. Lights off at 8pm, and showers once a week. Live in a tiny room and pay £600.00 per week and have no hope of ever getting out.

Think about this (more points of contention):

COWS:

Is it just me, or does anyone else find it amazing that during the mad cow epidemic, our government could track a single cow, born in Appleby almost three years before, right to the stall where she slept in the county of Cumbria?

And, they even tracked her calves to their stalls. But they are unable to locate 125,000 illegal immigrants wandering around our country. Maybe we should give each of them a cow.
It is time for us grumpy old folk of Britain to speak up! ...

What's Happening At The End Of Cromford Road?

Hmm, because there seems to be a large amount of inactivity - as in empty or closed - at the bottom end of Cromford Road, we're now wondering if a recent rumour that I mentioned at the beginning of my moany 'lack of flowers' blog - businesses at the end of Cromford Road being offered large wads of cash - is in fact true.

If there is a hint of truth in the rumours then we're puzzled about who wants to buy land and businesses there, and what they want them for [Godwins next attempt at McDonalds in case their current plans are thwarted, perhaps].

I can see many days ahead - when sufficiently bored enough, I'm not that nosy ... no, really - of t'Interweb cruising to see what I can find out ... failing that we'll interrogate some likely candidates.

There's still no sign at AVBC that the plans are being passed for McDonalds on CJ Cars plot,  I'm NOT ever so convinced these plans will be passed as - in my humble opinion - that stretch of road isn't safe as it is now, even without a McDonalds there, because the roundabout is too small and drivers from both Asda and Eastwood actually treat Station Road with an 'I've got right of way' mentality and are totally oblivious to Cromford Road.

And anyway, I have already suggested [ok, rumoured] that Netto would be a much better place for McDonalds - as Asda aren't likely to keep Langley Mill's Netto, which is almost closed - but no-one takes any notice of me.

You'll have to excuse the shortness of this post, but my friends are waiting for me to go out and play [bowls] ... and I still refuse to wear the uniform ...

Asda in Hucknall?

Well, it's only taken just over two years since I first suggested that Asda probably plan to build at Hucknall.

Oh dear Asda, have I spoilt your surprise? Well, GOOD. I plan to annoy you as much as your Langley Mill store annoys me - with their effin squeaky gates and the wa**ers they employ in the night to throw pallets about. They've only been asked four times - by us - to get the bolts oiled.

And Johnston Press - go and find your own news and stop reading my blog.

Er, where was I before I got carried away? Oh yeah, Hucknall:

Now someone has started searching for info on Asda in Hucknall and tripped over my blog.

Actually I thought that everyone in Hucknall would know all this by now as I told my sister ages ago - she works in a bank there - and she doesn't do secrets.

It must have been in the pipeline for a while, because it accidentally got included on a map of nearby Asda's when Langley Mill's Asda bumf was dished out.

I've heard [from the same sister] that it's to be on Hucknall football ground - as they're getting a new stadium - but this is just a rumour.

And anyway, it's not really Asda's style. They tend to pick some really grotty brownfield site so they can tell everyone how they'll 'kick-start the regeneration' of wherever it is, blah, blah, blah, so there's very little objection to the planning application, except from the competition ...

.....

Update 17th March 2013

The latest Asda in Hucknall rumours suggest that Tesco is selling their store to Asda because they want to build a bigger one - and there's already a lot of Tesco's in the area ... We'll see

R.I.P. Broken Britain...

You went soft on discipline!...

You went soft on immigration!...

You went soft on crime...

Parents were told - 'No you can't smack the kids'...

Teachers were prevented from chastising kids in schools...

The police couldn't clip a troublemaker round the ear...

Kids had rights blah blah blah...

Well done Britain...

You shall reap what you sow...

We have lost a whole generation!!

Not my own words, but definitely my sentiments - and it saved me writing it myself - this is doing the rounds on Facebook and I copied and pasted as requested - kudos to the originator/author for saying what we all think.

The only thing is ... I actually think we've lost two generations because the parents of the yobs are no better ...

 

Langley Mill's Flowers 2011

Before I get carried away with my latest moan I'll just share the latest rumours that a fellow grumpy has passed on:

Apparently some of the businesses at the end of Cromford Road, including an Indian restaurant, a repair/workshop garage and the car park where our council recycling bins disappeared from, have been offered lots of money by a developer, I'm told that these offers were turned down and there have now been larger offers made.

Why doesn't a developer want to offer us even moderate amounts of money? It doesn't seem fair when we're so willing to negotiate.

.....

Anyway on to my latest whinge, 90% of which has been waiting to be published for about three weeks, but having been in a better mood lately [away at the tin hut] and thinking 'hey, give 'em a chance' I put it on hold. Of course, back at home and a few sleepless nights courtesy of Asda's squeaky gates and their annoying deliveries have brought me back to my grumpy senses.

Top of Bridge Street

So:

Asda, isn't it about time you got Grace Landscapes to replace the plants that succumbed to last winter's weather. I mean the plants at the top of Bridge Street. We're not bothered about the ones further down - just past our peasants entrance to Asda - as one thick woman encouraged her children to slide over the snow covered plants and killed them all, but we actually care about them up here.

Several weeks ago now [17th May to be precise], my neighbour told the bark-blower [skilled job, wouldn't mind it myself] that they needed replacing, he made a note to say we needed sixty-odd new plants and said he'd draw a diagram for them back at the office. We've also watered the trees - and the few remaining plants - across from us, because as we all know water goes downhill; so leaving our bit parched and they were at least a month's growth behind their bigger cousins half way down the street.

Update August 27th:
Hmm, Grace Landscapes have said they'll do more planting in the autumn because if they replaced the plants now it would mean they'd have to come and water them - so?

Update January 2012:
It looks a lot like Grace Landscapes were telling lies, they had no intention of replacing any plants whatsoever - another grab the cash and run merchant. Someone new has got the contract for Asda's gardens.

 .....

Spot the Difference - Langley Mill and Eastwood

And now on to my bigger moan - still alas, plant orientated - and yes, I'm still using big words while I can remember what they mean ... and I'm English so will pooh pooh any suggestion that I use 'oriented' rather than 'orientated'.

I know our councils are supposed to be saving money, blah blah, but how come some councils can take the time, effort and a moderate expense to make the places we live, work and shop in look a bit more cheerful, and others, well ... don't.

Heanor's Entire Floral Display

Some councils would rather spend an exorbitant sum on a chunk of metal suffering from some sort of heavy duty metal-worm with a hula hoop stuck through it [yeah, yeah, I know there were art grants, donations blah, blah, blah]. You can tell I don't really like modern art - I like to recognise what it is that I'm looking at, rather than needing it explaining to me.

And if that's the sort of 'art' you're into, I can show you - for an arbitrary fee - an unmade bed [daily], and for no extra charge you can have a peek in my drawer full of excess lotions and potions - I will call this 'artistic' drawer 'Hormonal Imbalance'. I've also got a workmate plus lots of spare mahogany doors and a big drill if you prefer your 'art' with ventilation. Do feel free to call me a grumpy old philistine, because I simply don't care.

Hang on, I'm losing me thread here ... Oh yeah, flowers ... councils ... money:

Expensive Wing Thing

The same council then tell the world at large that they've been working on and improving Heanor. Ahem, we went through Heanor the other day and apart from some unsightly buildings having been demolished, I couldn't see any real improvement.

Now, having only previously seen a photo of this metal 'wing' thing - and the £20,000 price tag - I fully expected it to be on the 'Angel of the North' proportions. Ahem, it wasn't - and any time now it'll probably find itself on the back of one of the many opportunistic and no doubt illegal scrap wagons that turns up at least three times a week.

Eastwood's Flowers

We frequently pass through - and stop to shop in - our neighbouring Eastwood [Broxtowe council] and practically every lamppost has flowers on it, not to mention the troughs and multi-tiered containers. It actually lifts your spirits to see them and puts you in a much better - spending - mood. Or would have, had I not just been through Langley Mill, because Langley Mill's [Amber Valley Borough Council] lampposts are completely bare and our troughs contain grass and weeds - yes, neighbour ... before you gasp for breath in a 'that's the pot calling the kettle black' kind of way, I will admit to giving root room to a few weeds myself.

Eastwood's Flowers

I suppose someone will eventually feel the urge to put me straight about it being our local councils that decide whether or not to pretty up the neighbourhood - Well that's OK, I can blame them too, I'm nothing if not generous.

You know, I'm starting to experience a bit of déjà vu - spooky - or maybe this is a lot like my 2009 Christmas lights moan ...

Plans Submitted For Co-op/Potters in Langley Mill

I always wonder when a certain person looks at my blog 'WHAT IT IS THEY THINK I SHOULD KNOW?'. A little visit to Amber Valley Borough Council's planning applications soon put me in the picture.

I mentioned a while back [April, rumour 1.] that Potters on Cromford Road was being made over with no planning permission. It now seems that the plans were submitted - dated 13th July 2011. Yes I know I'm slow - I have to work you know.

I would call it a 'retrospective planning application' but I'm only a nosy peasant so don't really know the rules on planning - although the application form is ticked 'NO' after the question 'Has the building, work or change of use already started'?

Anyway, here's the application number, off you interested parties go and have look for yourselves.

AVA/2011/0605 - MIDLANDS CO-OP SOCY LTD 47 Cromford road Langley Mill Derbyshire NG16 4EF

Proposed conversion of existing building to form 5 retail shops, 8 starter offices, 12 one and two bedroom apartments and miscellaneous storage areas. Roller shutters to provide security to each shop and solar panels.

I wonder why it's still called the Co-Op? I thought it was Potters, Hmm, further reading will be done after I've lunched ...

Out With The Old ...

If you've read my previous post, you'll know that I've been tittering to myself since last Friday. I'll start from the beginning to paint the picture, so to speak.

Monday Evening:
We returned home from our tin hut by the sea with two new sets of bedside draws - a bargain from Skegness Focus as they were closing down.

Tuesday:
I armed myself with the required tools and set about building the cabinet/draws. My grumpy old man was hovering ... I wish he wouldn't as I like to do things alone unless there's a tricky screw I'm not tough enough to turn - and he knows this.

But no, he considerately told me what went where and reminded me not to forget the glue when putting the dowels in the drawer fronts. I reminded him who built every single kitchen cabinet and drawer. All he had to do was simply carry each one into the kitchen and dart (or something rhyming) about with his spirit level, declaring each time, 'Ooooh, that's level'.

It was hot so he thoughtfully got the big fan down from the attic ... yes the same fan I trod on during Friday night - because it never got put away - bending back my poor toe.

The draws were put in place, the old bedside cupboards were taken to the tip. Now I must ask all my friends who read this ... If I'm out shopping with you, please don't let me buy any body sprays or lotions. I could stock Boots! I'm a bugger for buying stuff, placing it where I'll use it. A few weeks go by - after I've used probably a centimetre of body lotion and a few of squirts of spray - then I decide everywhere is untidy.

Don't ask me why I decide this as I'm normally oblivious to my surroundings (my neighbour can confirm this) ... but I strongly suspect it's hormonal. Everything gets shoved in a cupboard or drawer in a willy nilly fashion and a week later I'm buying replacements. This also happens in the bathroom ... I DO NOT NEED ANY MORE BUBBLE-BATH OR SHOWER GEL! It's only a pity I'm not a domestic Goddess for three weeks out of every four and a slob for the one week, instead of the other way around.

Note to self: all my lotions and potions are now in a draw under the bed - the bottom of which is sagging alarmingly!

Hmmm, until that ancient, overwhelmingly large wardrobe goes and everything is rearranged, the bedroom door is in the way. It's forever launching itself at me as I try to walk past, either catching my elbow, dragging me back with a sleeve or pocket, stubbing my big toe, bending back my little toe or just generally trying to flatten my boobs. I requested that my GOM take it off and store it in the attic as it's never shut anyway. We have three doors in the attic now, mostly for the reasons outlined above.

Now I think about it, my GOM spends a fair bit of time moving things (not the fan) so I don't walk into them - anyone would think I was clumsy.

Wednesday:
You know, for the life of me, I can't remember what I did on Wednesday - it's a blank.

Thursday:
That wardrobe really has got to go, it's getting on my nerves ... but where do I put my clothes? Well, I've been asking grumpy for years to put a rail up in my two middle cupboards - there's six altogether, nine feet high and built into the alcove left of the chimney breast, his six are on the right. I wanted them poshed up and extended out but was prepared to compromise with just a rail (for now) to take my hanging clothes - which I never wear but may become fashionable - or even fit me again - sometime in the next twenty years.

This was eventually accomplished with much sawing, screwing and shelf rearranging. Oh heck, more lotions and potions in the bottom cupboards. The bed was by now full of clothes, draws (as my chest of draws was now in the way and needed shifting) and one cat who steadfastly refused to move.

Charity bags to the rescue!! I filled two with my best clothes that I'd bought on a whim and will never wear (okay, most don't fit). Then filled a bin bag with my worst clothes (boo hoo). They were all eventually prised from my fingers to be whisked away by my butler/chauffeur before I had time to change my mind - again. I cheered myself up with the knowledge that I could fill at least four more bags before I noticed anything was missing ... and now my side of the wardrobe was empty!

Friday:
The day we finally got rid of an ancient piece of furniture - yes that wardrobe was nearly as old as me. There was some crap in there I can tell you (his side). Not to mention the black and white telly in one of MY cupboards.

Now, where I was to be found poncing around in three bras (at the same time - very uplifting), a black and purple garter and a pair of red Budweiser braces during my cupboard and drawer rearranging (yes, I was fully dressed, I'm just daft), today my GOM was to be found wearing a Nottingham Forest scarf, fifteen ties, eight belts and a Jerry Lee Lewis T-shirt during the emptying of his stuff from the deepest recesses of the monolith.

Once it was empty and he was sure that we were doing this - sigh - to his wardrobe, we got on with taking it apart. There was lots of unscrewing and conversations that went ... 'over to you' ... 'have you got it?' ... 'pull it harder than that!' ... 'now just ease it this way' ... 'No, No, No!' ... 'ah, do it yerself!' ... 'no, no, come back here and hold this' ... 'I've broke a nail and I'm not playing anymore!' Eventually the wardrobe was door-less and in two halves.

Hmmm, now we've got to get these halves downstairs and onto the yard to be cut up and taken to the tip. This was achieved easily with one - me at the bottom to be squashed if he let go - the second required a return trip back upstairs to turn it around as we couldn't negotiate the corner at the bottom of the stairs. Grumpy was nearly in tears when he put the bits in the car, muttering that 'it's a shame, it's good wood that is'.

The wardrobe doors (got a nice theme going here) were going in the attic because 'you never know when they'll come in handy'.

Oh dear, oh dear, the doors didn't make it to the attic until Saturday, which is a shame really - I really must take this grin off my face. During the Friday night - when I woke grumpy to tell him why I was awake - first he got cramp in his leg and made so much noise that I couldn't hear the Asda delivery properly. Then he went to the loo ... on his way back he walked into the wardrobe doors leaning on the landing wall ... 'Owww, owww owww. I've broke me toe!' ... sympathetic reply 'Hurts, doesn't it?' ... and 'I bet you've woke the neighbours up.'

YES!! ...

Just Another Friday Night In Langley Mill

I say Langley Mill, it's most likely happening across the entire country in varying degrees but I can only moan from my point of view.

.....

It's no secret what I think about Langley Mill .... I have described it as a sh*t hole in a previous post - I'm not about to alter my opinion on the place or a fair few of it's scummy inhabitants - and if the cap fits ...

Last night was yet another reason to intensely dislike the place a tidgy bit more.

12.14:
A group of youngish teenagers went grunting past with their usual caveman finesse, I couldn't hear what was being said and I wasn't trying to listen, they may even been comparing kn*b sizes as there was much jollity. Where do their parents think they are? The old trick of saying they're staying over at so and so's, I suppose. Don't parents check or indeed care?

01.45:
I was woken abruptly by what I took to be next door's cat screaming in pain ... this is guaranteed to get me out of bed in a flash. It turned out to be four drunken witches returning home after a night out via Chavsda [yes Asda, you've earned the name]. There were two of these mad bints straight across from us - one using her phone, both clutching their Chavsda bags - screeching at the other two to 'HURRY UP!! ...YOU'RE TAKING THE P*SS!!'

I noticed whilst looking upon this veritable tragic display of young womanhood, the completely invisible Chavsda delivery lorry waiting at the gates to be let in - remember they don't have deliveries in the night [according to one of their security men].

The ladylike reply to the - so far - one sided conversation came a few minutes later when I went to check through the back bedroom window on their somewhat staggering progress ... 'WAIT FOR US, YOU SCREECH, SCREECH $%*%%' - lovely. My annoyance was then made complete when I trod on the foot of the fan that some complete di**khead had left in my way - bending back a previously broken toe ... ouch!

I limped dramatically back to bed and woke grumpy up - I was awake ... this entitles me to make sure anyone in my immediate vicinity is equally awake. Then I explained in great detail why I was awake ... yes, feeling better already - a grievance shared and all that.

01.49:
SQUUUUEEEEEEEEEAAAAAK, clatter ... SQUUUUEEEEEEEEEAAAAAK! And yes, Asda's delivery gates still haven't been oiled - wa****s!

SQUAWK, SQUAWK, SQUAWK, SQUAWK - lorry reversing, presumably because the driver had driven up to the bell on the gate to announce is arrival - rather than get off his ar*e and walk to it. BRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM ... SQUAWK, SQUAWK, SQUAWK, SQUAWK - lorry reversing again. SQUUUUEEEEEEEEEAAAAAK, clatter ... SQUUUUEEEEEEEEEAAAAAK! - gates closed. Bang, boom, crash, bang, rattle  - the lorry was emptied.

02.11
BRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM ... SQUUUUEEEEEEEEEAAAAAK, clatter  - gates opening ... SQUUUUEEEEEEEEEAAAAAK! BRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM - lorry leaving ... SQUUUUEEEEEEEEEAAAAAK, clatter ... SQUUUUEEEEEEEEEAAAAAK! gates closed.

Peace at last - yeah right.

04.20:
A relationship ended - hopefully ... It didn't end quietly - no such luck, there was much bellowing along the lines of ... from him - 'YOU AND ME ... WE'RE FINISHED!'... from her - 'Wah, wah'. This went on in the same vein for a good fifteen minutes, mostly him telling her why they were finished, interspersed with a bit of sobbing and a lot of effin.

05.10:
Gobby teenagers passed by again ... see the bit above.

05.55:
Ditto.

06.00:
Asda delivery ... you know the routine by now - but this was somewhat overshadowed by someone down the street going on holiday and loudly announcing every item placed in the car. By this time I didn't really care and probably wouldn't even be awake if I wasn't already thoroughly disgruntled and determined to wake up at the drop of a hat - although I don't recall hearing a single train.

Yawn ...

My GOM - who told them at Chavsda this afternoon about their bloody gates for the fourth time - had a worse night, but that's for another post ... I'll just say that I wasn't grumpy the entire night and I still keep tittering to myself ...