All the fun of the fair.

David, my 19-year-old autistic son, left school last week. His mom had been promising him a trip to Alton Towers theme park for ages but in usual fashion, she let him down. Therefore, muggins here, had to step in and take him.

Now I don’t like going to the place. It’s always packed and you spend all day queueing. However, I thought that seeing as David left school two weeks before the end of term, it would be quiet.


The place was crammed and not only that, full of bloody kids. Shouldn’t they have been in school? I’ve never seen so many lycra-legged, track-suited, baseball capped wearing teenagers in my life.

Yes. He actually got me on that thing after lunch, despite me hating rides that twirl around. Not only that, I also had to suffer the spinning barrels straight after.

Here’s a pic from last year when I took the other kids. Then, I could stand and watch. This time, I had to endure with my eyes closed. Then came the final horror. Yes, white knuckle rides like Rita and Thirteen, I’m fine with, but David insisted we go on this …

This ride was in the shape of a mushroom. After I’d been on it, I felt as though I’d eaten mushrooms of a magic kind, I tell you. OMG! Spinny things; they make me want to throw up, especially after just having had lunch.

And talking of our lunch, I looked forward to and purchased the battered fish and chips. Hmmmm. Chips – yes, but battered fish? It wasn’t so much battered fish as simply – batter. Okay, there was some kind of fish inside it. I think it was a stickleback.

Apparently, the reason there were so many schoolkids is that many schools take them to theme parks for day trips.

WTF? When I was at school, we had to go to castles and museums. It isn’t fair.

Inane comment of the week.

While waiting at my Doctor’s surgery. a guy comes through the door, smiles and says hello to his friend sitting near to me.

‘Hello, Mate,’ the new arrival says, ‘how are you keeping; you okay?’

I would have thought that was bloody obvious that he wasn’t keeping okay. You know, what with him waiting to be seen by the doctor in a surgery.

Anyone for … anything else apart from tennis?

So Andy Murray didn’t win, despite my baiting and challenge to buck the trend of getting so far, then bottling it at the last minute. Yes, I know, you will all have been crying tears with him at the emotion, praising him because he did so well for getting further than ever before. We all said, ‘Well done, Andy. You did us proud,’ when in fact, what we really wanted to scream was, ‘You loser! You had Federer four break points to your favour in the second set and you blew it!’

She should think herself lucky.

22-year-old Amy Crowhurst was once famous for being Britain’s youngest mum after falling pregnant at the age of 12. Amy, having lived off the state for ten years, spawning a further child at 15, says she’d recommend it to anybody. You see, while other girls of 22 are settling down to create their own families, Amy can meet up with her mates and go clubbing, when she dumps the kids with her mum, that is.

Here’s Amy at the younger age when first giving birth and she now says having kids as a child, meant she kept her figure to a size six while other girls are all fat.

Amy resides with her two children in a three-bedroom council house, paid for by the working taxpayer and lives off state benefits. She was evicted from a previous house a couple of years back for throwing drug-fueled parties. Where were her precious children at the time, I wonder? She should think herself fortunate that her house was the only thing she lost. She’s lucky not to have had her children, or as most would call them – the meal ticket, taken into care. Sixty years ago, Amy would have probably had her kids forcibly removed while being sent to an institution herself, for being a pregnant teenager. Thankfully, we are not as bad a society to that extent any more but there is still a difference between young girls needing help and those like Amy, who simply don’t give a toss.

Still, nothing will change. She’s 22 now. Expect to see her face in the paper again in a few years time when she becomes a gran at 27.

And on the subject of people named Amy – Superstitious bullshit of the week.

Amy Winehouse was reincarnated as a butterfly. That’s the belief of her grieving mother. Okay, you have to feel sorry for someone who’s suffered a loss but as far as superstitious nonsense goes, this ranks alongside Scientology.

Let’s for one minute, accept you do come back as an animal and Amy is a butterfly. I hate to break the mood but the average butterfly doesn’t exactly live very long. Wouldn’t it be better if she came back as a giant tortoise? Then, if life’s pressures got too much this time, she could just retreat back into her shell.

Hunting for a bargain.

I spent a not-so-lovely afternoon rummaging through the local rag market, or as it is more commonly known – TK Maxx.

UFOs over Old Trafford?

Apparently, secret files have revealed that there have been UFO sightings all over the country and one of them took place during a Manchester United match at Old Trafford.

Strange flying objects in Manchester? No, the boffins are confusing matters. There are no unidentified flying objects during a Man United game. All objects flying through the air can be put down to Ashley Young, every time he reaches the opposition penalty area.

Is that an unidentified flying object I can see? Oh no, it’s only Ashley in the penalty area, again.

Stating the obvious.

My 11-year-old, Eleanor, has a habit for doing this. I had a classic the other week. Sitting outside her house, waiting for her mom to return home, my daughter pointed to the house next door to hers. ‘That’s our next door neighbours house,’ she said.

Well, I’d never have guessed that, seeing as it’s next door.

Nice one, Eleanor.

It’s been a hectic week.

As I said at the start, David finished school and seriously, I have had so little time free, I wondered if I’d actually get this roast done. Still, he went into respite yesterday and I have managed to recharge. I am writing this on Saturday as later in the evening, I am doing an all-night ghost hunt. I shall therefore be out of it till lunchtime, Sunday.


Never done a ghost hunt before. Not a proper vigil. Some of you may know I do have experience of stuff like this – they follow me around but I also remain a sceptic. Nothing’s real till I see it. I don’t communicate with spirits, I just get vibes, see and hear things.

I love all that sort of stuff, and I’m not remotely frightened. Once you’ve had to suffer that spinning chair thing at Alton Towers, the one on the earlier photo, surrounded by thirty or more lycra-clad, screaming girls, nothing is frightening any more.