Lazy Girl Versus Wardrobe- Ow.

In our house, we have a pretty “keep it until it falls apart/blows up/we find better second hand and cheap (or free from Freegle) attitude to home furnishings. I’ve never been one for matchy-matchy prints or a theme. In fact, the theme I’d tie to our house is probably “Steptoe’s Yard chic”. I refused to join the ranks of the flatscreen TV brigade until our very big and heavy CRT TV went bang, even when it took 5 minutes for the sound to come on every morning. It worked. It would do.

When you rent, as we do, and as we found out in the last 5 years, you can very happily and eagerly redecorate and get everything just so in the house. Then your landlord can come and put the boot in the whole thing by selling up, or kicking you out. 

Even though we’ve been here for 3 years now, we did decorate to a point but did it cheaply and didn’t mind if we moved. We were nearly doing just that a few months back but the landlord decided not to bother after getting peed off with buyers and the estate dickheads agents who drove us and him mad. 

So, we have kept furniture that was here when we moved in, and it was old. Not old in an antique and chic way. Old in a chip board 80’s MFI nightmare way.

The wardrobes in our room went first when I got hold of a nice painted shabby chic pine set for £20. And then the bed frames that were here and brand new when we came in went as well, as Littlest outgrew his cot and we bought him a bed with drawers and Mini decided that she’d gone off the brand new double bed the Landlord had given us, so we didn’t need to worry the first few nights about putting beds up for the Brats. Earlier this year after I painted her walls again, she decided that she wanted a small bed again. 

All that was left until this week was the old wardrobes in the Brat’s bedrooms. Littlest decided to bugger his a few weeks back by forcing the drawers open, so the middle and bottom ones had sunk. This is down to his “sleep dressing”.

Yes, he doesn’t sleepwalk. He gets up at 3am, and dresses himself. He’s put on shoes as well a few times and got back into bed. It’s only more laughable when you consider he swears blind in daylight hours he cannot get himself dressed.

So, knowing that both were ruining the looks of the rest of the rooms and taking up far too much space, I declared a war on the wardrobes and put the feelers out to my contacts in home clearances (the joys of volunteering in a pop up shop!) and had a good search on Ebay.

I love Ikea things. I find they have all the ease and affordability of MFI in the 80’s without being darn nasty to look at. We have an Expedit cabinet in the living room for the TV and some of Elder’s records, and I have loved Mammut kids stuff for quite a while.

I expected to have to spend about £120 for two Mammut wardrobes on Ebay as they were around that. But, I thought, it’s worth it to demolish the old ones which had started to sway in protest everytime I opened them.

In the end, I bought one double Mammut in pink for Mini- costing £11.51 as the lady had listed it as simply being a kids wardrobe (good Ebay tip that, don’t search for the actual make or maker, search a general term or a misspelling and you’ll often save quite a bit), and a single blue one for Littlest for £30. Bargain!

We also got given a set of Ikea shelving for Elder’s records too, so we actually have space now in the living room as they do tend to take up vast amounts of space on the floor (all 10,000+ of them).

So, with the house taking shape and smartening up, it was time to demolish the old wardrobes.

Mini’s was easy, I unscrewed it, and with a few gentle bangs with a mallet it came apart neatly and safely (bar the two dents in the wall. Opps). 

Littlest’s was the last to go. It didn’t like going either.

It decided to fight back. The doors didn’t want to come off. Nor did the back board or the shelf. It was a pain in the arse. 

It didn’t help that the Brats wouldn’t bugger off downstairs and let me get on with it. Four times I told them to bog off back downstairs and 4 times they went and came back again. Until I found Mini behind me, just as I was at a stage where I was going to knock the swaying wardrobe over to make it collapse. 

I turned round to tell her it wasn’t safe and to go in her room, and I let go of the side I was holding. At which point it collapsed.

But instead of collapsing the way I would have guided it to, safely against the wall, it fell the other way. On my foot. 


Both the sides (the heaviest part) fell on my foot, along with the inner shelves. It bloody well hurt I can tell you. Mini casually wandered off without offering help or to call her Dad up. The little bugger. I had to (whilst swearing) lift the sodding thing off my foot, then hobble to the banister to call Elder up for help.

My foot is swollen, its cut to ribbons and my toe has gone bluey purple with bruising.

I knew I hated those sodding wardrobes. I also thought they weren’t the safest in the world either. But at least they fell on me and not one of the Brats.

I think from now on I may join the ranks of the soft furnishings lover and start buying Ideal Home magazine.

And ditch the old furniture before it fights back!


Is It Just Me: Who Thinks Suing Newsagents over Men’s Mags is Daft?

Erm, can I just point out that, despite the broad shoulders, and the height, I am, in fact, very much a lady. Not in the way David Walliams used to say “I’m a Laydee” whilst dressed as one, no, an actual lady who has had babies and everything. Or, as Loaded would refer to me, “a Bird”.

See, that’s kind of fitting to this story, the reference to Loaded magazine, as it seems Lawyers are actually arguing, on behalf of feminists, that selling Loaded and it’s similar lads mag titles in a newsagents however big or small could, apparently, amount to sexual harassment, and said shopkeeper should be sued for such.



I speak, as a woman and as a some time reader of Loaded magazine to suggest that:

a) feminists seriously have too much money
b) feminists seriously have too much time on their hands and
c) that this is the stupidest, daftest thing I have ever heard in my life when there are actual real shitty problems we should all be concerned about that should be taking precedent over this.

The thing is, I fail to see what is so wrong with these magazines? They don’t encourage rape, they don’t suggest you go out and commit crimes against women. They are, in my view, the modern day equivalent of the seaside postcard, or the Carry On film. They are a bit of fun. Simple.

 Lads Mag, or a sex guide for girls in Cosmo?

The other issue is that the feminists have decided to pick on these and these only. What, then about Women’s magazines?

I read both. I will happily pick up a copy of Red or FHM. I find both have funny, insightful articles (as long as you don’t mind Helen Flannagan and her massive boobies in a bra on the opposite page in FHM. Or Helen Flannagan and her massive boobies falling out of her dress on the opposite page of Red). 

In fact, Heat is much worse to women than Nuts or Zoo could ever be.

In Nuts, Zoo, FHM, Loaded and the others, they show women in all their glory. They show them in soft lighting, with slinky undercrackers on and a come hither stare. They have lists of High Street Honeys and the 100 Sexiest Women in the World.

What, by comparison does Heat offer?

What Where You Thinking, where celebs are ridiculed for their poor fashion tastes. Hoop of Horror, where they point and laugh at celebs with no make up, or visible nipples, or spots. Or Weird Crush, where they subject guys who readers vote as being a slightly less then gorgeous to a list to vote the weirdest of these “unconventional looking” men. Like Russell Howard, on the list, apparently for his “wonky eyes”. Or Richard Hammond for being “short and wearing bad shirts”.

Surely, surely, you’d rather the Lads Mag option than the Heat version?

Yes, some people don’t like girls on the fronts of magazines. Some may even say its offensive. But why? The only thing that pisses me off is that, when they have Holly Willoughby on the cover, she has had two babies just like me and is built like a goddess. But I am clever enough to know that that’s because Holly doesn’t eat as much cake and digestives as me, and she gets exercise. Which I don’t do. That is not going to make me go all mental and sue my poor newsagent. That is going to make me put my packet of Hob Nobs back on the shelf and reconsider my idea about buying Pringles.

Not only that, but how many times has Rhianna been on the cover of women’s magazines in nothing but a skimpy bra top and barely there dresses? Why is it such a big issue when she does the same on a Lads mag?

So, I say enough of this daft idea. I’d happily write for any of these publications, whether they have Gemma off Hollyoaks with the massive knockers on the front or they have a scantily clad “proper” actress like Keira Knightely on the front, with a “sensible” glossy article.  There are bigger issues in the world than men’s mags, and I say stop being so pathetic and if you don’t like them, don’t look.

What’s your view?

 Image courtesy of YaiSirichai/

Don’t Let Your Man Turn DIY Into a DI-Don’t! *

It’s a Bank Holiday and many men will be going to their shed, dusting off their tools, and heading to their local DIY store to complete those must finish (about 6 months ago) projects that our fellas are famous for.

In our house, Elder loves DIY, he is actually a painter and decorator by trade. However, whilst he can happily and competently slap a few layers of paint on a wall, and bang up a few shelves, he’s no good at plumbing. Or wiring. Or anything that doesn’t involve a minor nail fixing to the wall.

That doesn’t stop him though.

Like most men, he feels that his testosterone alone enables him to perform any “manly” task with ease, and without prior knowledge.

Take the time he decided to remove some particularly ugly corrugated iron fencing between our garden and the next door neighbours. He got out his claw hammer,  put on his trusty painted up workman chic jeans and he was all ready to bring that sucker down.

Except he’d never done anything like it before.

Inevitably, he proceeded to try and claw the huge old rusty nail out of the first piece of the fence. And promptly managed to hit himself in the face with the end of the hammer. Ouch. 

Or there was the time he managed to go through his sister’s ceiling while helping his brother in law discuss the possibility of extending the house up into the attic. 

It seems that poor Elder though is not alone, as a recent poll by Wilko revealed that, as a nation, we cost ourselves the equivalent of £138 in wasted money each year! Deluded handymen everywhere are causing untold amounts of damage, simply by using the idea that they know better.

It’s the same as when you go on a journey. The kids are over excited and bored, screaming for food, the loo or to ask if you’re nearly there yet. You can hardly hear yourself think, let alone the sat nav. But your dearest hubby decides that, despite never having driven through the area you find yourself in, he knows the way without asking bemused bystanders for directions. Even though you’ve passed them four times and gone round the same roundabout 8 times without success.

 So, instead of wasting your hard earned cash, know your limits- suggest lightly that you may be better off calling in the professionals, just this once. Local Traders commented on this and said: “These figures show how important it is to know your limits where DIY is concerned and when it’s time to call in a professional tradesman. Tasks such as plumbing work, rewiring and boiler or appliance installation in particular should always be done by a qualified tradesperson. It’s always better to invest in a quality job rather than cut corners trying to reduce the price and end up with it costing you in more ways than you might initially expect.

If it’s a simple job like painting a room, you can usually manage without the help of a tradesman, but anything which makes you gulp at the idea of having a go at- or the idea of your other half smiling at you while he ends up needing the services of the local A+E, that’s the time to bring out the local phone book or set yourself the task of Googling a professional.

So, don’t let your other half spend Bank Holiday weekend raiding his tool kit and ruining your holiday, think first, think safety and if in doubt, call in an expert. It could save you quite a bit!

*Article Collaboration

**Image: Image courtesy of imagerymajestic /

Matilda Mae: Come on Get Bidding!

You know what I love about the little circle of blogging mates I am proud to be part of? When we put our minds to something, boy can we do good.

Matilda Mae was tragically taken from her wonderful family at 9 months old, which is hard for any parent to deal with. But what is more remarkable, more awe inspiring than how many lives this beautiful angel touched is that her Mum, the equally beautiful Jennie Edspire has turned a grief inducing loss into giving her energy and channeling her grief to campaign, raise awareness and fund raise for the Lullaby Trust.

Along with Ghostwrittermummy, they have set up an Ebay Auction and some great brands and bloggers are involved, so there are some great items to be had. Some are ending very soon, so if you have an Ebay account- or if you don’t sign up now!- pop on over to the auction and dig deep.

You can find the auction at UniqueGeekChic, and there are items from Thorpe Park, Stork, Nuby, Kurio and many more to snaffle up.

You can think of it as treating yourself or your loved one and, at the same time, you can donate to what is such a brilliant cause.

I have so much admiration for the strength that Jennie has had, the woman is a super hero frankly.

So, off you go, and get bidding now!

Is It Just Me: Who Fails to See the Point of Eurovision?

As a kid, Eurovision was something I looked forward to with excitement. In my house, we’d have lemonade and crisps (trust me, that was a treat, nay an event in our house), and we’d use casual racism against the French, the Germans and anyone else we could think of something mean to say about. 

The costumes of the other countries used to cause much hilarity, not to mention the throwback hair styles, and Terry Wogan’s “that’s what I was thinking” style of commentary.

Now it’s different.

I didn’t really bother this year, as what’s the point?

Eurovision has become an exercise in our, frankly ungrateful, Euro cousins deliberately knobbling us into crap places and nil points.

Is it just me, but the amount of bloody cash related scaffolding we give to the likes of these poorly attired bunch should mean that, if we chose to send a random fat guy to go on stage and burp the national anthem, we should immediately win the entire thing, possibly for the next 10 years?

I think this year the other competitor nations all got the collective hump due to the possibility of us sodding the hell off from being part of the Union, and taking away our cash too.

Granted, we sent Bonnie “not had a hit since 1985” Tyler out with a rubbish song, but if we sent Adele or the likes of we’d still lose. The whole idea of Eurovision is to have a crap song. We should win for that reason alone!

Even Wogan got bored and decided to retire. There are only so many Frog jokes you can make. And since Graham Norton, who I love when on anything else, has taken over, he just doesn’t have the same ability to drop in non-pc remarks as Wogan did, and hence the main comedy component has gone.

Not only that, but the other countries have suddenly, well, started to take the whole thing seriously and field actual talented singers with great songs. That should so not be allowed. I want sequins, I want rubbish songs, I want lyrics that, when translated make no sense whatsoever and thus render me in need of help from the floor.

It’s like Simon Cowell has spread like a disease over our beloved Eurovision and made it all proper and great. Except no one has bothered to send us the memo.

Yes, I lament for the good old days when you could boo the acts, point and laugh and be mean to foreigners legitimately  Then it didn’t bother if we came second, it didn’t matter as we didn’t have to shell out to host the thing the next year. The laughing at Germans was enough.

So, now, I fear, is the time to say, enough is enough, let’s leave the flammable materials, mullets and questionable lyrics to history, recover our musical snobbery and self respect, and hang up our microphones.

Image: Image courtesy of renjith krishnan/