Liam Gallagher gets a battering

Liam Gallagher has finally got a battering, but not the kind we’d like to see. Liam has taken a break from singing with his hands behind his back, to concentrate on what’s really important in life, sausage and a battered one at that.

Fans were shocked to see the Rock n Roll star eat a battered sausage on holiday in the Lake District. Noel, a local resident (unrelated) was astonished that such a big star was actually in a chip shop, eating what was described as a large battered sausage and portion of chips.  Noel told us,  “I just don’t believe it, it was unbelievable, bloody unbelievable, he didn’t even order the more expensive thing on the menu, the fish,  he chose a battered sausage. I always have a battered sauage and chips, he’s like one of us, unbelievable ”. Further Reports from inside the chippy say that Liam opted for salt, and controversially avoided any vinegar because it makes his chips too soggy.  Liam had decided against an exotic holiday, half the world away, and instead chose to stay in the Uk, as he wasn’t really a fan of foreign food or lazy foreigners who have to have an afternoon nap.   

Tim who works in the chippy was also shocked by the superstar’s appearance and told us that “ He took one look at the battered sausages, licked his lips and asked for one, it took all my strength not to ask him if he wanted a roll with it to make it into a hotdog, but sausage jokes are the wurst” .

Reports that Liam also went back and bought a Kebab have not yet been confirmed or denied.

As you were……

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World outraged as Robert De Niro makes another Little Focker.

The world is in shock as man in his very late 70’s has become a father again. Surprisingly his partner is far from concerned and believes that it can even be cost effective having a baby with a really old man. An anonymous insider, who would like to remain anonymous, explains further, “Look, none of us know what the problem is, babies and old people are basically the same, an old person is essentially a grown baby”, “This is actually good timing!”. “Bob lost his dentures recently and had to rely on mushed up baby food.  It took him images to get an emergency dentist appointment, even superstars are struggling to get past the dental receptionist, they’re really no different from the rest of us”.  A family friend added that “Both dad and baby both smell of piss but if Robert has had too much to drink, the potty always comes in handy.  His mobility scooter has created the most benefit, and it’s been a Godsend when there’s heavy shopping to carry.  Last week he even managed to balance 3 Tubs of Horlicks, Stewed prunes and several packets of Werther’s Originals without any accidents.  

Ed Sheeran admits to being a natural ginger but denies being a greedy bastard….

Ed Sheeran has spoken candidly about his issues with binge eating and there have been reports about his engagement in purging activity.  The purging has yet to be confirmed or denied, as it is still unclear if Sheeran is talking about the dystopian horror films or the need to chuck up after meals.  He did, however, threaten a Journalist and said “You’re now on my PURGE list”, after one uncomplimentary concert review. Karen from Leicester agreed that the concert in Birmingham had been “shit” and that Sheeran hadn’t sounded like he does on the radio. She went on further: “It was a pretty dull show; to be honest I’ve had more interesting bowel movements”

  

Ed Sheeran has confirmed that he is a natural ginger and even offered to prove that his collars do in fact match his cuffs.  Sheeran was also heard saying that although he isn’t very freckly, he does struggle sitting in the sun for long periods of time, even with Factor 50 on.

Bowl hair cuts back in fashion, says ya mum

Bowl cuts back in fashion, says ya mum.

One incontestable proof that your mom hated you was the the bowl hair cut , and now it’s back.

With no access to barbers, men are having to swallow their pride and ask their mums to cut their manes.

Former 80s bowl cut recipient, daz explains: “the bowl hair cut wasn’t too bad in the 80s because we were all off our tits on ecstasy. There were a few further dodgy fringe trims in my teens, but I took back the power in the late 90s and started using the local barber. During lockdown I hit rock bottom , and having no choice, I’ve had to ask my mum to get her bowl out. Luckily for me, the missus likes the Amish look.

◦ It’s a hairy situation, but moms are back in fashion.

Prince Harry more miffed that his dad stopped his pocket money

Prince Harry more miffed that his dad stopped his pocket money.

Prince Charles is yet to respond to those allegations of racism but has set the record straight about Harry’s terminated weekly allowance. Charles added. “Look, Harry only had two jobs, washing the Rolls and walking his grandma’s corgis. I’m not blaming Meghan, but as soon as he got a girlfriend he couldn’t be bothered to do either, so I couldn’t be bothered to pay him. The cars are filthy and somebody has written  “this car is as dirty as Camilla”  in the dirt on one of them.  But it’s the poor dogs that have suffered the most, and we even had to put one down which worked in Harry’s favour because it meant he had one less to walk.   He seems to have time for Megan’s chickens and Netflix. 

We’ve haven’t been able to talk on the phone because I refuse to pay his phone contract, so we’re corresponding by homing pigeons and smoke signals , which Harry can afford. 

My Autistic Tribe

All you have to do is find your tribe, they said, love them hard they said, but that’s not easy for somebody with Autism who struggles to make friends or even eye contact.
I did try to find my tribe once after I’d planned to meet up with a Social group for people with Autism in the Centre of Wolverhampton. I got there three hours early like I always did, just in case the trains were running late, or I was late, or they were late, or somebody was late. The pub was unusually busy and all you could see was a sea of yellow Wolves football shirts. It was a quite intimidating as I wasn’t expecting to see so many people, and I wasn’t a fan. I could have coped but a group member called Jason had decided to wear a football shirt from another local team, not direct football rivals, but almost as bad and provoking.  If I wasn’t anxious before I saw all those revved up football fans, ready for a match and after some football agginess, I was now. The Wolves fans weren’t anxious because they were already a few pints down and the sight of a rival Football fan parading his shirt proudly in front of them only ignited their anger and passion. I’m not exaggerating when I say all hell broke loose. The Wolves fans chanted at us, which just made Jason chant back. The fans then got more incensed and chanted something about shitting on somebody and mocked Jason’s taste in shirts.  Jason just shouted back at them, but this time injected a bit of sign language he’d picked up from his secondary school. This may have only gone on for a few seconds but in my head it was an eternity of pain and trauma.  I soon learnt about PTSD and that nothing comes between a person with Autism and their special interest. Finally, after some encouragement Jason decided that his passion to stay alive was greater than his passion for his football team, and he was ready to sacrifice his shirt for our safety. Jason was happy to take one for our team instead of his favourite football team. The support workers found him a white t-shirt to put on but this only made things worse and encouraged further ridicule from the Wolves fans, because it was like a mistake you’ve tried to rub out where the mark just gets dirtier and dirtier. Luckily for us it was nearly kick off time at the Stadium, so slowly the fans dispersed like cattle, and I’d survived my first episode of football violence. As I sat chatting to other members of the group I couldn’t help wonder if I’d made the right decision embracing this new world and exposing myself to ridicule I’d be open to once I came out. Was I a better person because I’d been able to mask my Autism for all these years?  I was 40 years old and I was sad that I’d struggled all these years not really understanding what was ‘wrong’ with me?

As I got to the train station all the trains were delayed which meant I’d have to get a replacement bus late at night just when all the football fans were trying to get home. Luckily, they’d won the match so at least they’d be in a good mood and had hopefully forgotten about the T-shirt incident earlier, for me that would take me a lot longer. I waited for the bus and as I stepped on I saw rows of rowdy men in football shirts, but out of nowhere I saw a bright white T-shirt and somebody clutching a plastic bag, it was Jason. I couldn’t be happier to see his friendly face amongst the unfamiliar faces. We avoided any football talk, because I didn’t stand our chances much, and instead I questioned Jason about his Autism. He told me about his earlier struggles, but he told me more about his great job, and his friends, both things I’d always struggled with. He’d recently done a stand-up comedy course to overcome his fear of public speaking, something I wouldn’t have had the courage to do, and not many people would. Right then I’d never met a braver person in my whole life, and I felt guilty for thinking we were different, and for letting people believe I was his support worker earlier. We were just two ‘normal’ people trying to navigate our way through a world with all the same problems, stresses, and confusions. I’d just had twenty years more practice at hiding my quirks and traits. We were no different, and Jason made me proud to be like him.  Maybe I had found my tribe, maybe it wasn’t just Wolverhampton who won that night, I’d certainly won my own victory.

Adrian Mole @ 69 The retirement years

January 5th

Pandora came to visit me at my sheltered accommodation today. Even without my glasses I can tell she’s let herself go. I swear I saw Mr Roberts in Room 19 wearing them on his weekly outing to Bingo. I hope he wins a full house, then I might get a chance of getting them back. I’m making do with a magnifying glass that one of my grandchildren gave me. It was a lovely thought, but I could tell it was a free gift out of a Christmas cracker when I found a rubbish joke attached to it. Pandora’s treacle-coloured hair is now bright pink because the apprentice hairdresser at her local salon is dyslexic and there was a mix-up with the hair dyes. I tried to comfort her and told her she looked like a beautiful piece of candyfloss ready to be devoured, which I thought was quite poetic for that early in the morning, but she was visibly annoyed by the comparison. Mr Scott in Room 5 didn’t help things when he asked Pandora to help him find his dentures. Pandora huffed something about us being ‘old Buggers’ and raced off like Lewis Hamilton, just about missing Mr Scott’s carer who was carrying his jar of pickled eggs. What happened to help the aged?

January 6th

It’s armchair aerobics in the communal hall today. I feel like I’m appearing in the film ‘cocoon’. Women over the age of 40 should NOT be encouraged to bounce up and down. I noticed them passing out the Tena lady pads before we even began. I don’t think any of the women at Over The Rainbow sheltered Accommodation owns a bra. Mr Scott didn’t seem to mind though, and I noticed how he frantically fought for a chair opposite the ample bosomed Mrs Pearce from Room 11, or big breasted Brenda as I heard some of the other women call her. There’s only four men that live here, so there’s plenty of women to go round. I’m the youngest person here, sometimes I feel like a member of staff.

I found my glasses after making unsubtle hints at Mr Roberts. I think our friendship may be over. I found them in the biscuit tin after I offered the Warden a cup of tea and a custard cream. I can’t understand how they got there, but if anybody actually visited me for more than ten minutes I would’ve offered them a tea and biscuits and found them earlier.

January 7th

Barry Kent popped in for a chat today, I think he’s lonely. He must be, because Over The Rainbow is more like a morgue than The Emerald City, especially after dinner when everybody has fallen into a food coma. The only yellow brick road is the pee soaked mat on the way to the toilets. I think Barry is hoping he will find a new heart because his own one is a bit dodgy and he needs a Pacemaker. Personally, I think he’s in more need of a new brain- I think Pandora and I were the only ones to learn anything from Neil Armstrong Comprehensive school. The kids told me the School has been knocked down to make way for a new college where you can graduate in Lady Gaga studies and Hair management.

I have a feeling that Big Breasted Brenda has the hots for Barry. He still has some of his own teeth and can walk with out a frame, so I can see the attraction. She’s always sitting near the front door, like a garden gnome, whenever Barry is leaving. Mr Scott has the hots for Big Breasted Brenda and isn’t happy about the competition from an outsider and seems to be blaming me. I’m the only person who can be in a love triangle, but not be the object of anybody’s affections. I’ve only been here a few weeks and I’ve managed to upset half the male population. My circle of friends has now dwindled to a semi-circle.

January 8th

It’s been like an episode of The Sopranos today, with the Ambulance turning up, stretchers and a body bag. Mrs Sunderland’s mobility scooter lost control in the foyer, even though it only goes at 5 miles per hour, and knocked over two residents. You’ve never heard so much commotion. I was sat peacefully watching Homes Under The Hammer when all hell broke loose. The noise made me miss how much a house went for in Stoke-On-Trent after it’s refurbishment. Sadly, we had another incident when one of the residents on the third floor sadly passed away. I phoned Pandora to tell her that a room has now become available but she put the phone down. Thank God Glen, Glenda is taking me out for a two for one lunch deal tomorrow.

January 9th

Glen is now Glenda. He felt a career in the Army was a good way to suppress his femininity but now he needs to be the real him/her. He’s only halfway through his transition, but he still fits in well at Over The Rainbow because most of the women here have a beard or moustache. Mr Roberts loves it when Glenda comes to visit because she reminds him of his late wife Beryl. Mr Roberts really needs to check if he’s wearing the correct glasses. There is a real problem with theft in this place. Last week I saw a lady wearing the V- necked jumper that my mother knitted me for Christmas. I knew it was mine because one arm was significantly longer than the other and it smelt of fags. When I confronted the lady, who I’m still trying to track down, she told me she had bought it from M&S. If M&S are selling items like that, then they won’t have any major shoplifting problems. I don’t even like the jumper, but the smell reminds me of my mother and she may not be with us much longer.

Glenda corrects me every time I call her Glen, but I’m an old man and these things take getting used to, like the 3inch heels she insists on wearing. Glenda has informed me that I am going to have a carer visit me from next week because she’s going back to college and won’t be able to visit me as often. When I ask her what she’s studying she mumbles something about lady Gaga’s hair.

When I arrived back home i sensed something exciting happening in the main hall because all the residents were lined all with big smiles on their faces. When I got in line I realised it was just the monthly visit from the Chiropodists. When you get passed the age of 50, you need hedge trimmers to get through your toe nails. I considered leaving the queue, but I had nothing better to do so I just stayed in line.

The F Word…

Being a woman and not having a penis left me at a serious disadvantage when it came to explaining puberty and sex education to my eldest son. I thought I’d experienced enough embarrassment to last me a lifetime during labour. The last thing I remember about labour was looking down at my feet and seeing a random stranger sewing my vagina back up. I didn’t think anything could top that amount of embarrassment, not even a smear test. Imagine my complete mortification when I had to take my son to see the Doctor because he had a sore willy and couldn’t wee properly.

Like any mom, I’d already self diagnosed it as a water infection and expected the Doctor to write out a prescription for Antibiotics, how wrong was I? After an examination, the diagnosis was to be a lot more sinister.

As soon as I heard the F word or ‘foreskin’ I knew we were in trouble. My son and I both looked at each other with a fear in our eyes I never want to experience again. Neither of us wanted to be in that Doctor’s surgery, especially with each other. After we were informed that boys need to start looking after their foreskin, I cursed his dad for not taking him. By the time we got to the word ‘circumcision’ I was ready to pass out. This was even worse than when my three year old stuck all my sanitary towels over his jumper and I didn’t realize till we got to nursery. After our sex education lesson, I nodded in the right places and we left with red faces and no Antibiotics. In my defence, I haven’t got a penis and trying to explain to a ten year old how I know about a man’s foreskin is a conversation I don’t want to get into. Life with girls must be so much easier, because at least I know what they are going through. After the dreaded walk of shame past the Rottweiler receptionist, who I had fought with to get an emergency appointment, I tried to explain to my son about the foreskin in the only way a woman knows how…… ‘Son, next time, ask your dad’..

Just lie back and think of England..

When did sex stop being kinky?

I vividly remember having a sex life before I had children, and not even the lie back and think of England kind. I’m talking about the can’t keep your hands off each other, going at it like rabbits kind of kinky sex. Having sex for the first time after you’ve been through the trauma of labour is like losing your virginity again, but much scarier. kinky sex now is just staying awake during sex or making the effort to take your socks off. Sexy lingerie is a thing of the past, because now you have to shoe horn yourself into it and that can take longer than the sex. Messing around with stockings and suspenders is an impossible challenge of coordination when you’ve only had three hours sleep. Sexy lingerie is now anything matching, anything that hasn’t turned grey in the wash or anything you can find clean in the drawer. Dirty sex is sex with your t-shirt on, the t-shirt which still has the baked beans stain down the front that your toddler wiped all over you at breakfast.
Remembering to shave your legs is not even a priority these days, because when you have to explain to two little boys why you’re trying to get your leg behind your head you just cant be bothered. I’ve never been to a yoga class in my life, but some of the positions I need to get my legs into to be hair free requires way too much flexibility. I can’t even remember the last time I had a bath without a World War breaking out or without somebody pleading with me to ‘come and wipe my bum’.
Sleep deprivation and the pressures of motherhood can leave you with the libido of a slug, but everything improves with time, everybody gets back into the groove. My advice is to embrace the quickie, and if you want to get your sex life back on track and you don’t want any more children , tell your partner to keep a sock on..

Thou shalt not f&*king swear.

Today’s moanermum commandment… Thou shalt not f&*king swear

After hearing my 3 year old blurt out “for fuck sake” at a family birthday party, I knew I had to give up swearing like Gordon Ramsay and drastically modify my language. I now have the internal monologue of a tourette’s sufferer, and thanks to the swear box that takes my money like a fruit machine, I may need to take Kerry Katona up on her payday loan offer. Self-censorship is so hard after you’ve stepped on another piece of Lego and wiped shit off the bathroom wall for the tenth time. Don’t ask me why my boys refuse to use the toilet paper I’m the only one who replaces, but it’s the cause of most of my colourful language.

Swearing has a legitimate function, Kids can push your buttons, and swearing can prevent you from hurting somebody. We’re warned that smacking and swearing at your kids doesn’t work, but how many times can you put a kid on the naughty step before it renders it powerless. Sometimes I wish somebody would put me on the naughty step, just so I could get some ‘me’ time.

Parenting pushes you to your limits. Sometimes there’s just no substitute for a F-bomb when the pressure’s really on and it’s way to early for a glass/bottle of wine. Driving in rush hour traffic can see you spitting out profanities like Catherine Tate’s nan, and even a nun with a vow of silence would fire out expletives after she’s sat in piss because somebody’s forgotten to lift the toilet seat, AGAIN. Not being able to swear is like having an itch you can’t scratch, a spot you cant pick. But Kids are like parrots, and if you don’t want to be cleaning potty mouths along side potty bums , stop bloody swearing.