I’m not knocking them – they have to stay in the papers somehow.
So, this happened: It’s been an eventful couple of days. There is nothing like your boiler going ‘bang’ and…
Bradley keeps writing TNUC A SI YDDAD on mirrors with his Mum’s special red Instagram lipstick and is haunted by two ghostly girls who were murdered in the hotel years before.
There are only so many times that you can be interrogated by strangers before you snap.
Comparing secondhand smoke and secondhand vapor seems to be a very hot topic lately. Sadly, many cities, national parks, and…
“How terrible that a feckless layabout got more cash than a hardworking, honest person!” sneered the Daily Mail and everyone nodded along and agreed like good little citizens, with no thought for the people it would actually affect.
Leaving them to it for a couple of days will only give them further ammunition to fight you with when you tell them you are at breaking point – “I kept on top of the house and kept the kids happy that weekend you went away, it was easy. You must be lazy”
Now, I am not saying that my child is the antichrist. Obviously, I immediately checked her head for the mark of the beast the first time she threw an epic tantrum and projectile vomited all over the kitchen wall because I wouldn’t let her chew on the cat’s tail.
The character I hate more than anything though, is that fucking Mother squirrel.
She lives up a tree, right? She could get an amazing Sky signal up there. But no, she has to live like it’s the middle ages.
It was only when I couldn’t ignore the huge, flapping red flags that I finally decided that enough was enough and that I couldn’t see him anymore, which was a charade in itself.