Mini and the Christmas List of Hilarity

Ah, Mini.

God love her.

If one day my daughter is not rich and famous I shall be very surprised. Looking at her Christmas list, which appeared as if by magic overnight on the fridge door, she’ll need a considerable amount of wealth.

Mini went off, with Littlest, to her Aunt’s house this weekend. They had a great time, seeing the panto and feeding swans over in Windsor, and it meant a nice bit of peace for us too.

So, I was quite surprised that, having been here over this weekend from 3.30 on Sunday, she had time to put together her list of must haves.

They are, as follows, in the order in which she put them (spelling mistakes are her own)

  • New Ballet Costume

Now, this I could see coming. I have to mention straight away that Mini does not have ballet lessons, as you would assume from the item being on the list. No, Mini is entirely “self taught”. She is never happier than when “doing her ballet” as a “performance” to whatever musical medium we are playing at the time. Be it Funky House or prog rock, she is quite happy to jump and spin round the dining room.

  • Temple of Air Jitsu Lego

Mini has become a massive fan of Ninjago, a Lego TV tie in about Ninja’s looking for some such nonsense or other. It started off as something Littlest liked and through the process of him watching this or Pokemon during the school holidays she got into it too. I like Lego toys, I had a selection as a kid, back when it was either a decent box of different coloured bricks, or Lego City which was more expensive. I had the former cheaper option but enjoyed making houses and penguins from it throughout the holidays.  The set that Mini (and Littlest) wants though is way over the £150 mark. Ridiculous. That and it will cause arguments as they won’t be able to work out how to set it up, and then bits will be lost too.

  • Dolls House Furniture
  • The Game of Life

No idea why she wants this, it’s like she read my Christmas list between 1988 and 1993. I’m not even sure they still advertise it?

  • Treehouse

We have no tree in our garden, or at least none whereby you could put a treehouse in it, we have a big old wobbly fir tree but it’s a) not ours and b) wobbly. I blame the Simpsons for this list item.

  • Books
  • Chalk

No idea why she wants chalk? We have a bucket in the kitchen of it. She has forgotten I bought it.

  • Clothes and Shoes

In Mini speak, this means “please may I have 95% of the current offering across the girl’s department of Primark and H&M”?

  • Stuff from Lush

She is still driving me crackers on the whole pinching my bath stuff, my make up and my perfume. She forgets she is 9 going on 10, not 18. See also the make up listed further down.

  • My ears pierced

Not a chance. There is more chance of her getting that bloody Lego set for £150 than there is her getting those done. I still think she’s too young, and anyway, they are banned outright at her school.

  • Make up
  • pencil case
  • Staitionary (written as she per her list)
  • A handwriting pen

This one is down to her getting enough Golden Handwriting tickets to mean she gets a Berol red Handwriting pen. She has been after one since September, and has joined 14 others in her class who have won one.

  • Pads of paper
  • a laptop and phone

Ha! No chance Mini. She had a very nice Nokia Lumia. Which she broke, having an argument over putting it away to do her homework and basically throwing it in a fit of angst at her dad, who promptly didn’t catch it and thus, crash. As for laptop, mine is getting a big black line across the screen from dead pixels, so she’ll get one when I get one (in about two years by my usual reckoning)

  • Colouring books
  • Money

The last bit of her list is the most hilarious. She starts off with £45 written with a crossed out line through it. She then put “£100 would be nice”.

As I said, I hope she’s rich when she’s older, because if I buy her everything on her list between now and when she leaves home, I shall be broke and in need of a loan from her!

We’re yet to have a formal list of wants from Littlest yet, but all he’s mentioned so far is Pokemon, Ninjago and Beast Quest books, so will be a happy chappy with those.

When I was a kid, I was much more reserved, although I do recall taking a felt tip pen to the Argos catalogue. I think I knew though that however many times I hopefully circled a Mr Freeze maker or a Yellow Teapot family, I wouldn’t be getting them. I certainly didn’t ask for make up or money until I was well into my mid teens.

9 is clearly the new 14 if my tween is anything to go by.

What is on your kids lists this year? Let me know in the comments.

And remember to tune in to www.radioactivefm.co.uk on Wednesday between 12-2pm (UK time) for Lunchtime Live, where this week I want to know what your favourite Kids Tv Theme tune was. You can join in using the hashtag #RadioactivefmUK or by following me on twitter @TheLazyGirlBlog or @Radioactive_fm

#CampBestival 2017: Next Year’s Theme, and My Costume Picks

It’s been a few months now since the heady, hot days of fun we had as a family at this year’s Space Themed Camp Bestival (and you can still read our write up here) , and this week saw the announcement of next year’s theme.

I do love the thought that goes into each and every detail of Camp Bestival, so I’m sure lots of time was spent by Rob, Josie and the team picking through the countless suggestions and possibles.

Next year is, of course, Camp Bestival’s Tenth Birthday celebration, so I think there is even more to come from the team behind the multi award winning festival.

So, if you’ve yet to find out the theme, it’s

POPSTARS AND ROCKSTARS!!!

campbee2017

Image courtesy of Camp Bestival @CampBestival

Ohhhh the possibilities people, the possibilities are endless for next year!

First up, there are so many decades to choose from, do you go as a 50’s Rockabilly, or a 60’s Psychedelic Prog Rocker? How about a 70’s Disco Diva, or an 80’s New Romantic? And what about punks?

Blimey, even Elvis offers several different varieties to himself, as do the Beatles!

Mini has already decided she’s going to pay homage to Perrie of Little Mix fame in a cartoon dress (I did try and persuade her to go as Amy Winehouse but she wasn’t having any of it). Littlest wants to go as either Lukas Graham or David Bowie (I’m hoping he goes more for Bowie), and I’m feeling an 80’s Madonna during the Material Girl era.

As for Elder, he’s considering going as Mama Cass from the Mama’s and Pappa’s.           Yes, really.

There are so many different rock and pop celebs past and present to go for, there are sure to be countless incarnations of Freddie Mercury, Kylie Minogue, Prince, Michael Jackson, Bowie and Adam Ant amongst others.

In tribute, Lunchtime Live will be having a Camp Bestival special show on Wednesday from 12-2pm UK time. The music will be some of my top picks from past Camp Bestivals, and our topic is “what would YOU choose for the theme?” I also would love your fave Camp Bestival memories to read out too!

You can listen live over on Radioactive FM UK or tune in again over on my Hear This page.

What do you think of the theme? Are you coming along? Who would you love to see play next year?

Comments are open or find me on Twitter!

And if you want to come along, tickets can be bought from the Camp Bestival website

 

Elder and His Endeavors to Chav Our House Up This Christmas….

For goodness sake. Does anyone wish to adopt Elder? He comes with a vast quantity of Christmas lights and trainers.

I kind of have to take some of the credit/blame, depending on your viewpoint of Blackpool Illuminations strength Christmas lights  on residential houses.

Our neighborhood is pretty cool and we all seem to love a bit of paying things forwards and Freecycling. But recently, Freecycle seems to be taken up with some right tat from the rest of the area. And our town is small by comparison to the rest and gets lost in the scheme of things.

One of the clever ladies at school decided to set up a swap/borrow/free group on Facebook, which has for the most part consisted of us Mums going into school with bags of unwanted coats, kitchen stuff and other such stuff to swap or give to another Mum. It’s lovely actually, on the same day as one Mum was given two of Mini’s hardly worn but sadly grown out of coats, I became the proud of owner of a canvas picture I had wanted for ages that someone else had no room for.

There are members outside of school too, and a lady advertised that she had some outdoor Christmas lights she no longer wanted, and I asked for them.

I possibly should have checked how many there were, being that we don’t have that much space on the front of our house and her home is one of the one’s I look at on the bus and think that when I win the lottery I may consider buying.

Elder went off to grab what I thought was two small lights, only to find there were literally boxes of the things, all in good condition, and the lovely lady offered to drop the rest off for us.

So, yes, in essence, I am complicit in having aided his new idea to chav the house up.

My idea though is to further pay it forward and offer some to other Mum’s I chat with at school, and luckily one such Mum is very happy to partake in the general Christmas spirit of increasing one’s electricity bill to astronomical levels and annoy the neighbours in one hit.

Elder though can see no issue with our lack of outside wall space. He points out we have wall space inside the house we can put them up in. Inside.

I can now foresee lights of the strength that I shall spend the entirety of December with a migraine.

His particular fave is apparently going to go above the decks.

(Insert slightly concerned face here)

He also likes the idea that we have what every street has- a miserable sod- and who complained bitterly about the fireworks that went off at the local men’s club on the corner at the weekend. He feels it is his duty to give the silly old bugger something to whinge about with our light show.

As I said, would anyone like to adopt him for Christmas please?

I would add that when we first met, the first Christmas we properly spent together (our first was spent with him eating Chicken by himself and me at my parent’s for the last time ever), he didn’t want so much as a piece of tinsel up in his flat until I persuaded him after a party on Christmas Eve.

I shall no longer just be broke down to the levels of overpriced tat my children want and which I shall no doubt give in and buy, but also by the bill I shall receive in January for having a mini light show inside and outside my house.

If you can see a strange light in the sky come December and wonder what it is in the Southeast, it’s just my house lighting up the sky and annoying miserable old gits county wide….

 

Speaking of Christmas, that was the very first topic at my new Lunchtime Live with LazyGirlUK radio show over on Radioactive FM.

If you missed it, you can listen again at my Hear This page or at the Radioactive FM site, and you can listen to the tracks separately at my Spotify Playlist

I’m back next week, 12pm-2pm UK time and will let you know next week’s discussion topic soon. You can request mentions and songs via the hashtag #RadioactivefmUK or by tweeting to @radioactive_fm

All That Glitters, And Why The Internet Has Gone TOO Far.

The end is nigh people, the end is freaking nigh. I am calling it now, heard it here first, the internet has gone Too.Bloody. Far.

I logged into Facebook this morning, nothing unusual there, I grant you, and scrolled through my feed.

I tend to be up an hour before the rest of my household, as I like to have that golden hour of peace before the kids get up (and one of them, inevitably, will wake up in a foul mood- this morning it was Mini) and I have to run round like a madwoman until they’re safely ensconced in school and I can sit down quietly after 9am.

There is always some daft story or other on the old Facebook feed, usually courtesy of Lad Bible or Buzzfeed.

However, this link was too much. It has gone too far. And now the net needs to be stopped, or go back to the very early days of dial up and no daft social media bar Bebo and questionable MySpace pages.

Etsy.

Etsy is something which I have heard of, I have seen over priced tat being pro-offered on top lists of must haves for people who love hedgehogs on Buzzfeed. I’ve never knowingly bought anything which is actually for sale on Etsy, usually as the tat I’ve seen online is usually available cheaper elsewhere anyway.

I understand you can get all manner of “out there” stuff on Etsy though. Its like one of those outsider arts and crafts things that Maidenhead council uses when shops naff off, but with the added bonus of not having to leave the house.

Yet now, some bright spark, using what can only be described as a weird sense of what its OK to invent and thus sell to other weird people  has invented the most pointless, ridiculous and damn right rank thing I’ve ever clapped eyes on.

Tablets.

Tablets, with glitter inside.

Tablets, with glitter inside, that mean you can poop glitter.

For shits sake.

I have no issue with people weird enough to fulfill some Disney like fantasy of crapping out glitter dumps. Really, I don’t.

I don’t strictly get it and have to wonder why they can’t just be amused playing Candy Crush or reading a shampoo bottle like the rest of us.

But what, pray tell, does one do once one has glitter bombed in the pan?

Is the buyer going to ask the family in to view their shiny turds?  What would be the point otherwise of spending money on these?

Possibly the most worrying aspect is they are advertised as a great buy for Christmas. Are we expected to decorate the tree with it? Or sing Christmas carols round the toilet? Not since Mr Skanky The Christmas Poo from South Park went to number one have I ever seen such a strange Christmas tie in.

The mind truly boggles.

It boggles further when you find out they cost close to a fiver a tablet. As joke gifts go, it’s pretty bloody hefty of price tag.

I would worry about what happens once you ingest these and they obviously unleash glitter in your innards. I can’t see the glitter settling well, and what about the toxins from the plastic and dye?

Can we just please stop now Internet. Please?

I’m all for social media, for talking to folks, hell I love the net so much I’m getting my own online radio show at Radioactive FM UK very soon.

But glittery Christmas shit?

I guess you can polish a turd after all…..

 

Is It Just Me: Horrified After Question Time?

Again, we all know I voted to leave the EU. I stand by it, and I always will, I’m not someone who has changed position,  in fact the more the rabib Remain angry committee (not, of course, the sensible remain voters who took the decision on the chin) got cross, the stronger my position became.

So, yes, I am bloody pissed off that Article 50 now can’t get going until we have an undemocratic, pointless and rather irritating debate from the Commons. Especially when these out of touch, over compensated prats didn’t have a clue that a lot of the electorate would vote leave at all. It was the smugness of them that we would never leave that annoyed me the most, they are so unaware of the realities of life in the UK for the underprivileged that they just expect us all to vote how they tell us to without question.

However, whatever way you voted, however smug any side is, I would never, hand on heart, ever decide to throw scorn, and indeed, wish ill health on any children.

Unlike Nicola Gorb, who decided to get right on a rant on last night’s Question Time live.

She thinks it’s quite fine and dandy to wish ill health on the children of Brexiteers. You know, kids like mine, who have no idea what politics is properly yet (although we do involve them more and more in child friendly political discussions and Mini did rather jump around whopping like a loon when Smugron resigned).

What makes this all the worse, as if it could be any worse that to wish ill health on minors, Nicola Gorb is employed by, go on, if you’ve not seen the news on this- where’d you think?

She is employed by Great Ormond Street Hospital as a Speech Therapist. Working with children. For a wage.

Great Ormond Street have, quite rightly, distanced themselves from her comments, and people who saw her ranting and raving commentary last night have, once again quite rightly, called for her to be sacked.

How on earth does Ms Gorb think a parent today who voted to Leave feels knowing they have an appointment with her soon? Someone who is paid to do her job but yet thinks their child should be ill by default of a vote they had no control over?

What intelligent person, in her position or otherwise, would think it was wholly normal to go on live TV, hell to voice it in the comfort of their own home alone even, and suggest illness is fine if your parent’s voted an opposing way to her?

That, people, is why the Government and Theresa May have a duty of care to follow through with Article 50 and the leave the EU now, and ignore these disgusting half wit bullies from the nuttier side of the Remain campaign.

If your only response is to damn the very children you are employed to look after, then you really are a sub-human moron.

And I for one hope May does the right thing, orders you to be sacked, and launches us on the path to EU freedom at her earliest convenience.

 

 

 

Public Safety Films- Or Why I’m Still Shit Scared of Everything.

Back in the day, either at school or in the school holidays, you’d be subjected to the charm of the Public Safety Advert.

These would usually start on TV around June, just before the holidays for the summer based ones, or nearer September for winter versions. If you were subjected to them at school, you’d be led into the hall and they would be shown on one of those massive TV VCR sets on a trolley with doors, and usually in the presence of a PC from the local Constabulary (shout out to PC Baldock for all the Medway massive).

The adverts were like mini Horror films. There were plenty of them too.

The one’s that really stick with me were to do with fireworks. My God, how anyone of my generation actually still attends displays or, heaven forbid, hosts ones themselves is beyond me.

Seriously. I’m helping out at the Beaver/Cubs Firework night on Monday, and we’re having sparklers. The idea makes me go over all goosepimpled. I’m not going near a bloody sparkler and I’m 34 down to ads like these:

Then there was one where someone had gotten hold of fireworks and set their bloody house alight as they didn’t keep them in a metal biscuit tin. Or the kid who had one explode in their face and was scared for life.

They were always far too bloody graphic and, to be fair, it’s no wonder that by the late nineties they went for cartoon versions that had the same message of safety without giving the entire Primary School network of Great Britain ongoing Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

Then, there was the fact that, around every corner, danger lurked unless you were with your Mum. Even older siblings could not be trusted and would, without doubt, lead you to be fried by an Electricity Substation.

Or, they would dare you, along with your mates, to walk along the railway line, into the path of an oncoming, fast moving Intercity train, dashing your hopes of football glory.

My problem was doubled- my Dad worked for the electricity company so not only would I be traumatised by these types of video (and seriously, go on Youtube and find some of these if you don’t believe me but don’t show them to today’s kids), but then he would tell me again how dangerous any form of play outside the house was.

You weren’t safe outdoors- there were strangers with nice cars around who would offer you sweets and then tell you about kittens at their house.

You weren’t safe in the park- they were all near railway lines and power stations.

You couldn’t fly kits- they would get stuck in pylons and cause you death by massive electric shock.

Trick or Treating meant even more dodginess could befall you, and not just from your shell suit and cheap mask catching light. Of course, there were weirdos who would give your sweets laced with sharp objects or poison (Or so the urban legend went).

Even indoors wasn’t safe- kettle leads, irons, lighters and matches were all hazards, and even if your Mum was careful and put those pesky fireworks in her Charles and Di tin, you’d still find them and burn your stupid child self.

Its no wonder my generation exercises attachment parenting, as all our parent’s were far too happy to let us out into the path of almost omnipresent doom.

Perhaps this generation are better off in a bubble of game consoles and 24 hour TV. Less chance of them getting their laces stuck in train lines or being abducted by dodgy BBC actors.

I think I shall stick to making the sausages on Monday. And keep the matches well out of reach of children……

………Or any of my fellow 80’s kids.

Stay safe everyone this firework night!