So today the I’s were dotted and the T’s crossed and my late mum and dads house in Clitheroe has finally been sold and the last links to my parents extinguished. Clitheroe will always have a special place in my heart. My parents moved their in 1992 and after my mum died my dad lived there after that until he died. Now was the time to sell as my job isn’t that safe and any monies received means we will clear some debts. Just the mortgage to pay off now ! I must make one last pilgrimage if only to load up on sausages from the famous Cowmans sausage shop, visit the cracking bric-a-braq shop for some vinyl and to have one last look at the last link to my parents and remember all the good times such as the numerous times we fell into the house after one of Clitheroe’s legendary stay behinds or remember the times me and my dad sat up demolishing his rather splendid selection of whisky and brandy. Good times indeed and there was nothing better than being spoiled by your mum and dad and slipping me a few quid to have a pint when I was back in Liverpool when I didn’t have that much spare money after it was all blown on night a weekend at Cream and Garlands. I used to go to quite a few footy matches when I visited Clitheroe and took in Clitheroe’s own team and frequent visits to Burnley and Blackburn and I even managed a visit to the old Wembley to watch Burnley in one of the most eventful matches I had witnessed (Well until I went to Istanbul)
So many nice memories but also Clitheroe is tainted with some bad memories as well. Just 4 years after my mum & dad moved there my mum was diagnosed with ovarian cancer in 1996 with a very bad outlook. Indeed my then girlfriend and now wife never really knew my mum without illness and therefore only got to see a bit of the true Lil Fay. With such bravery she battled the disease and had that many treatments that she lost count. She eventually could take no more and died in 2006. In 2001 I was summoned to a visit from my mum and dad to Liverpool for some important news. I had braced myself for some final news RE my mum and I was then dealt with the crushing blow that mum was ok (For now) and it was my dad who had lung cancer. He died in 2012 from complications from that after battling and defeating a brain tumour. I will never forget the time I went to visit and my mum was upstairs unable to come down and writhing in agony with audible groans of pain. Something I will never forget. I shit myself and said goodbye to dad and drove home contemplating what had just gone on !! My parents were great at hiding what they were going through to protect me as they had the chance as they were in Clitheroe and I was in Liverpool. That added to me being in my late 20’s trying to be as ignorant as possible to their problems something that most probably made things worse when the shit finally hit the fan.
So whilst clearing the last of my dads stuff to finalise the sale of the house I came across all kinds of shite he had kept. Strangely I was transported back to the house in Clitheroe just by the fact that all his stuff stunk of smoke (Both him and my mum smoked) funny how things get you and I admit my lip had a wobble as I was hit from the sides by a random memory triggered by cigarette smoke. Then whilst checking his wallet (No random cash found) in the briefcase he had left with all his “affairs” in I stumbled across this letter (Click for larger image) and hit by a thunderbolt of emotion.
Dated 23.12.96 which would have been during my mums first or second treatments.
I have not written to you for a long time (That doesn’t mean my feelings have changed) rather the opposite.
I love you if at all possible more than ever. I know the effort you have put in getting and organising Christmas presents but the best ever Christmas present from you is the one you have given me this year – just being here.
I will never forget what you have been through this year, and still must be experiencing. Nobody else would have shown the guts and spirit you have.
In your own special ways you have tried to make light of the situation and shield our family from as much worry as possible.
Once again thank you for being you.
Fuck me what a find. It had me in tears when I found it and the same again as I type it here. My dad wasn’t perfect but when you find shit like this it just shows that underneath that father figure he portrayed to me deep down he was a deep and caring man. If I can show half the caring that he had hidden I will be a good man.
I miss you both mum and dad x x x
Well a second serious blog on the run after the Manchester bombing one “Oh Manchester is full of sh……………” which ended up being my most popular blog yet. But don’t fear folks sausage roll gags and bollocks will be back ASAP.
Fay x x x x x x x x
“Oh Manchester is full of Shit. Oh Manchester is full of” you get it now. This was the passionate 16 year old me stood on the Old Spion Kop. I say passionate but it was misdirected passion. When football was life and life was football. Strangely enough I was only telling Mrs Fay this unfortunate story the other day. At the same time I was stood on the Kop with a hatred for Manchester I recalled a time when I told my teacher that if I ever had terminal cancer I would go into Old Trafford and blow myself up. My teacher called me out for what I was and advised me that my views would change in a few years. The 16 year old me was having non of it though and adamant I would be what would now call a scouse Jihadi. Fast forward just a couple of years and the words of wisdom from my teacher made complete and utter sense. I still wince about that moment. Thankfully a moment back in the late 80’s when only me a handful of my school mates and a teacher heard such moronic and frankly disgusting words. No Twitter or Facebook then thankfully and my utter words of shite now only make it to the masses. Little did I know that as a 16 year old knobhead that terminal cancer would knock at my door with my mum and cancer for the best part finishing my dad off. Not only that but the real horror of a suicide bomber wouldn’t be to far away in Manchester that place I thought was full of shit.
So 10.40 last night and I noticed on Twitter a few tweets about something going down at a concert. Soon after some footage of the chaos of people trying to escape from the arena and a whole army of ambulances driving down the streets of Manchester en route to the Manchester Arena. I thought christ this doesn’t look very good at all. I put Sky news on and no mention of anything. More and more was developing on Twitter but as ever there was already some misinformation and blag pictures doing the rounds. I waited until the top of the hour and there was the slight mention of some incident at the Manchester arena. Already Twitter was starting to paint the real truth and my heart was sinking. Eventually the mainstream news was catching up and it soon became clear that there had been a major incident in Manchester. Mrs Fay has come home from a concert herself and I updated her about what had gone on. By this time there was some dash cam footage of the explosion doing the rounds on Twitter and it was plain for me to see it would not be a case of if any people had died or been injured but a case of how many.
I was clinging to some form of hope that because the arena was by a railway station that maybe this had something to do with it. But as the time passed it soon became clear that it was a terror related incident. Next up the news that 20 people had died including children. There I was was watching this whole thing unfurl from a few tweets into a fully blown terrorist attack. Come 2am and the American press were already reporting a suicide bomber. I had to switch the news off the iPad and eventually drifted off to sleep listening to five live after 3am bit numb from what had happened.
I was awake for just after 7 and went for the usual habit of reaching for my iPhone first thing I discovered the death toll had gone up to 22. Working from home I have access to TV news etc but made the decision again to turn it off at 9am. We were now getting to the point where 24 hour news needs to be filled with the harassment of people who had been at the event. Maybe it helps these people to talk to the TV but it makes uncomfortable viewing for me. Keeping one eye on Twitter Katie Hopkins was being the cunt she is and I got onto the city of Manchester was living on the edge of fear with an incident at The Arndale Centre which was a false alarm. As the day progressed the first names and ages of the victims were being released. Utter heartbreak for those involved. As responsibility was claimed and the name of the bomber was released. The ugly side of things rears its head but is soon doused to with stories of heroic behaviour in the aftermath. Just to think as thousands of people running one way are met with a few of the emergency services running fully equipped with first aid gear against this human tide of fear armed with only bravery.
Not much more to add really. “Oh Manchester is full of Shit” Shit dealt out by people who wont win. I don’t know what the answer is but if some nutter wants to blow me up coming out of a gig or drive a vehicle at me there is nothing I can do about it. In reality the odds are so minute but as the fear is pumped into our houses via the TV or in my case social media and TV that raises the stakes and I just wont let it get to me. Luckily after a day reflecting on Monday nights events I can move on and get on with my normal life. As the sun sets this evening on the first day of a nice spell of weather for us all its a different tale for dozens of family’s and friends as the sun is setting on the first day of the rest of their lives. Lives shattered for no apparent reason.
“Oh Manchester is full of showers of tears. Oh Manchester is full of sharp acting emergency services. Its full of shelters for people who couldn’t get home, shy heroes and shattered lives. Oh Manchester is full of sheer inspiration”
Peace (If only)
Fay x x x x x x x x
6th October 1986 early doors and the birth of Adam John Fay AKA The Golden Child. I had just turned 13 and had became an uncle. The good news was that my dad was that giddy with being a grandparent that he gave me a day off school. Such was the unexpected day off from a slightly disciplinarian dad the shock was that much that I was expecting to tread in some rocking horse shite whilst enjoying this most unexpected day off. The good news did not last too long as golden child came home and I was kicked out of the big bedroom and into the box bedroom.
Fast forward 30 years and whilst on a trip to Iceland (Reykjavik not the shop) it was announced that Adam and his girlfriend were expecting a baby. The Golden Child II. Time flies by when your a driver of a train, speeding out of Trumpton with a cargo of cocaine (Bonus point if you get the lyric) and we found out that Golden child was to be female some weeks later. It suddenly dawned on me that this would give me the title
Great Uncle Neil or Great Uncle Knobhead (I am sure Adam, Lily and James will back this up) I felt as sense of responsibility with this impending title and declared that when Golden Child II was born that I would announce the next day as a bank holiday though I was secretly praying as I am a self employed mingebag that a weekend baby would save me losing a days pay.
Fast forward even more and Hayley was now over a week overdue. The weekend was on the horizon and my wallet was looking a bit thicker. Come last night at 11pm I had a missed call from Adam but alas I was fast asleep at 10.15 after watching Episode 424/692 of Prisoner Cell Block H (Thats another whole blog in the making) So when I woke up just after 7am getting ready to do some overtime in work I was greeted with the lovely news that Golden Child II (As yet unnamed) has been born at around 6pm the night before. The family also requested that there be a social media blackout until informed it is Ok to do so. Modern births eh ! So I had no other option than to email work and request a Fay bank holiday for the named golden child. The dogs were treated to an early morning walk up Sudley Field and with me being a lunchtime and evening dog walker I met a whole new posse of dog walkers to let onto to. The rest of the morning was spent playing Mario Kart bringing back memories of the hours me and Adam used to play on the old SNES Nintendo.
Me and Mrs Fay went for a celebratory lunch down to The Otterspool and it was unlimited salad. Did we look like a pair of salad dodgers ? Well to be fair I have dodged salad all my life and even though I requested a plain hamburger it came out with salad and shite on. How hard it it to make a plan hamburger ? Still waiting on news from the new baby Fay’s parents on a name and social media blackout removal I got on with the rest of the day. Come 18:27 and the news that The Golden Child AKA Baby Fay will now hereby after be known by the name Penny Lilian Jane Fay. Born on 18/05/2017 at 18:20 and weighing in at 7lbs 13 Penny will for a bit keep the Fay name going on for another generation. As I am King Fay I think this makes her 6th in line to the Fay throne (Elizabeth, Charlotte, Holly, Clare (Sister) Adam and then Penny followed by James then Lily) So with the social media blackout ending I can now post this blog and send my many many congratulations to Adam and Hayley and welcome little Penny into the family and breath a sigh of relief that she wasn’t called Maggie (Thatcher)
Like my two eldest girls she gets the name Lilian from my late mum and the Jane is from Hayley’s great nan. Its at nice moments like this that you get a little dig in the side as I think how proud my late mum and dad would have been to be Great Grandparents but the glass is definitely half full, well in fact full with vodka and pure orange which funny enough was a tipple of my mums and she could knock back a few of them. So below is a picture of Penny who already has more hair than me.
So all eyes to festival season and the numerous Glastonbury related blogs that will dominate my blogging sphere. Just a quick mention of two gigs I have been to over the last two weekends. First up an excellent phsycadelia band from Carlisle called “The Lucid Dream” who gave a banging performance downstairs at The Shipping Forecast. Last weekend were the funk and soultastic Smoove & Turrell live downstairs at The Magnet. A might find band and performance and ever managed to grab a few words after with the lead singer of this geordie based band. We made the fatal mistake of falling into one of Liverpools secret speakeasy bars called The Berry & Rye and I fell in about 2am bladdered. Oh well after a birth its a wedding to celebrate tomorrow and good luck to Patrick and Alison on their happy day.
As for Great Uncle Neil its after 8pm and I’m getting tired. Slipper, cardigan and pipe time. Feet up to watch songs of praise and ready to give little Penny some words of wisdom “Vote Labour”
Fay x x x x x x x x x
So it was 1993 when I was last in Prague and here we are Prague II The Return. This time instead of gegging in on a school trip even though I has left school by that point the return was with some lads I play footy with on a Wednesday. Yes I know any excuse for a trip away. Sadly 6 became 4 before we even left and things didn’t start of to plan as I turned up at The Rocket and we were meeting in The Fiveways ! Schoolboy errors before I had even had a drink. A swift pint and a taxi later and we were in the bar in Manchester Airport sharing a jug of Estrella. Before we knew it we had landed in Prague and were en route to our apartment. The taxi driver took us down some very narrow streets only to have us at the wrong gaff. Lucky enough the real apartment wasn’t too long away and a quick spray of Lynx and we were out in the chilly Prague night for some reason wearing t-shirts only ? The was a bar in the basement of our apartment so why not get the real night going. It was a small but busy local establishment but we were refused a drink because there was nowhere to sit for a bevy. Strange rules but hey ho and off into the Old Town of Prague we headed. So when abroad what do most Brits gravitate to. Yes you know an Irish Pub. A very busy Irish pub and a smokey Irish Pub. Old Skool cigarette rules in Prague. Deciding the main room full of boozed up brits aboard including a gang of St George’s we sat in the quieter back room. Next up a more local bar and a stop afterwards at a Pizza Shop (Eating is cheating) we stumbled across a nice bar called the “Follow Me” bar. With some chilled out dance choons and a good DJ we ended up hitting the cocktails and Sex On The Beach followed by a Cosmopolitan was the choice for me. Cracking bar but again a bit smokey but we were going to have to get used to it. A couple more bars including yes you guessed it another Irish Pub and we grabbed some ale for the apartment whilst the lads again had pizza and I treated myself to some Slovakian chips. 3am and time for bed. I had nabbed a nice double bed in a separate room but the downside was the wifi didn’t reach. I pulled up the duvet to cover my body and my legs appeared at the bottom. Alas a single duvet on its side was the conclusion after a bit of fumbling in the dark I finally sussed the out !
So Saturday morning and not feeling too bad I headed out on a walk by myself to shake the cobwebs off ready to get back on the ale again. I ended up walking over the beautiful Charles Bridge. It was 1993 the last time I was on this bridge as an innocent 19 year old. Thinking about it could not remember a thing. Indeed it was just over 24 years since I had stood on this bridge. No selfie sticks back then polluting your view. But I did have a moment and thought that 24 years is a very long time. I was last on this bridge as a child really and now I am back a fully grown (A bit too much grown in places) man. I thought of the people who in them 24 years are no longer here but the glass then being half full looked at how my life has changed for the better with getting married, kids and my first iPod etc but I am still waiting for Liverpool to win the league. I decided that I must revisit this bridge in 24 years time if I am still here. How 24 years will look so far away then and being 43 would be boss as apposed to being 67. The 19 year old me would be a lifetime away then and it will most probably be my last visit to Charles Bridge to have a moment in another 24 years age 91 is not going to happen.
Back to the apartment and my “moment” on the bridge now in the past we headed off to hit the grog again and breakfast was a pint and a plate of fries. A walk around the main shopping area and a spot of a C&A which was the shop of choice in getting my school uniform before I had to follow trends as was asking for Farah pants and a Fred Perry jumper.
A few more beers around Prague Old Town and we jumped in a cab as we had decided to go and see a footy match and Bohemians 1905 at their Dolicek home. The taxi rocked up right outside the gate with 5 mins to go and through the turnstiles we sat in the main stand to watch this top flight game. Sadly there was a lower flight goalie on show as an error lead to the home team going behind against FC Fastav Zlin. The goalie was that shite that he got subbed at half time. I have never seen that at a match before though back in 1986 I was playing for a kids team APH (Aigburth Peoples Hall) and I was a sub and we took our goalie off at 1-0 down and muggins went in goal. We won 2-1 and that remains the only thing I have ever won in footy. It was chilly sitting in the main stand so we had to warm ourselves up with a beer and left before the end (Missing the second away goal) and got a cab right outside the ground and we were back in the old town before we knew it in a sports bar.
So as with my last trip way the soccer dice were out and our four man league was coming to a boil. To cut a long story short I was leading the league and Ste needed a win to claim the Prague Premiership. With the last roll of the season Dave equalised thus giving the league and a nice £15 profit to me. I couldn’t wait to get off the plane at Speke Airport to see the crowds and then straight onto an open top bus around South Liverpool. As the night got hazier we went to our fave Follow Me bar for some more cocktails and we stopped off for a scran somewhere. Final stop of the night was an Irish Bar with a fancy dress Power Ranger and Scary Spice from Bo Selecta the highlight and we rounded the trip off with a Bailey’s each. Into my wifi less bedroom and I then spotted an wifi extender plug in my bedroom and a quick shuffle and back in me bills to the living room and back and I was back on the grid.
Sunday morning I had the lads on role call as we tried for Glastonbury tickets. Mrs Fay had bagged hers and we were trying for my mate Alan. One of the lads got in but frustratingly we never got the page to dept the payment. So close yet so far and mixed resale day result. Expect more Glastonbury blogs nearer the time and of course the world famous daily blogs live from the farm. As my eldest Elizabeth is 12 (You have to pay full whack at 13 for Glastonbury) she will be coming down at some point to join me at the festival and ensuring my best behaviour ha ha.
So a pleasant enough flight home and another great European trip away I was soon back on the couch watching Liverpool get beat. Ended up just the four of us but we had a laugh and an adventure. I look forward to 2041 and my next visit to Prague and moment on the bridge. Just the last picture of a beautiful city that when I was 19 bypassed me. Dont get me wrong this was a boozed up weekend but I now appreciate whats around me more and always know to look up and check the local architecture out.
Fay x x x x x x x x x
Different year, same blog (ish)
So the 15th of April comes around yet again and its a day I dont look forward to. 15/04/1989 and its now 28 years since Liverpool fans went to Hillsborough for a F.A.Cup semi final and 96 of them died. I didnt go the match that day but had friends who did and I still remember making the phone calls that evening wondering what I would do if I heard any bad news. All my close friends made it back. There was however one lad who I played football with who did not. His name was Philip Hammond. He was only 14 and I has played in teams with him from Sudley juniors through to APH. He was a good player, that good that he was in the year below us but often played with my year. Hid dad Philip Hammond Senior has been a tireless campaigner for justice for those fans. It’s nice to see Calderstones school name their sports hall after Phil and I have had a bit of contact with his younger brother Graeme on Twitter and my thoughts are with him and his family and the other families today. What a shocking waste of a life and as I get older both as a person and a parent I can feel the pain that the families have suffered both of the tragedy and the 28 year fight for justice. But sadly still many people need educating about the facts of Hillsborough and even though the inquest in Warrington provided the truth which some people still choose to ignore the families of the 96 are still waiting for justice. Just remember don’t buy the sun.
As if by some cruel twist of fate 15/04/2006 came around and after battling cancer for the best part of 10 years my mum finally died after some time in a hospice. She was brave to the end and went through so much in those 10 years and I grab the positives that she seen me get married, and have our eldest Elizabeth. I can’t quite believe it is now 11 years since that day forever etched in my mind. It pains me that she never got to see Charlotte. Time does heal things a bit but certain dates stick out. I often think what she would have made of the kids growing up (So fast) and its heartbreaking that every body has missed out, the kids, me and my mum. Both my daughters have Lillian as a middle name after my mum so they will always remember nana. In 2012 we had another daughter born in early April called Holly who never got to see nana and also my mums mum is no longer here as well and Holly has her name Eillen (poor girl) as a middle name. Added to the misery is that my dad has now joined the great Fay/Roper party in the sky. Nobody prepares you for losing a parent and when the second one bites the dust it made me re-evaluate my life, a process which is still happening. No longer anybody to look up to and ask questions. All of a sudden you become technically an orphan. I had been giving Thatcher stick in an old blog but her daughter hit the nail on the head by saying “It is a deeply sad and rather thought-provoking landmark in life.” Talking about losing a second parent. Now I am leader of the pack with a massive hole in the family make up. Just a short blog today to remember my mum and those footy fans who went to see a match but never returned.
Fay x x x x x x x x
So Mrs Fay headed off to Belfast this weekend. Cue instant memories of listening to the Boney M single “Belfast” in our front room in the late 1970’s. Hazy memories include my dad with a muzzy and a perm. My mum with a bottle of wine (No change there) and everything in the house was painted brown ?? Boney M were my first venture into music and not just that dance as well. Check out the moves on Bobby Farrell in the video below. You will be able to see me busting similar moves at Glastonbury this year. Bobby is sadly no longer with us. Very soon after his death was reported, it was observed to have occurred on the anniversary of, and in the same city as, the death of Rasputin, described in Boney M’s eponymous hit single, in a case of life imitating art. As David Icke would say “No such thing as a coincidence”. That meant I was left with our three “Bin Lids” 12, 9 and 5. It was time for daddy bootcamp AKA what methods of bribery can I use to maintain a decent order in the household. With an early finish from work on Friday I had a gentle 4 mile jog in preparation for the Vitality Liverpool Half Marathon on Sunday (More of that later) It was then off to Allerton Road to drop some documents off with my solicitor (Super Injunction holding tight and so far so good) and then I was dragged to Home & Bargains and Poundland to buy some goodies for the kids to be bribed with. It was quite a coincidence that I found 8 bottles of Desperados for just over £8. How good is that. Tea was good old fashioned beans on toast. Don’t want to peak too early with the McDonalds golden arches ticket I was saving that for Saturday. So all three kids packed off upstairs and relative calm that was until I took the “cone of shame” that our youngest dog has been sporting. For his first birthday present he got his crown jewels cut off. Such was the post cone excitement that there was major friskiness with our other dog Benny (Nearly 3) the end result was one cushion in rags and them trying to bum each other at 10pm in the evening. Now its 2017 and I have no problem with my dogs being gay. Indeed any excuse for me to regress into my late 1990’s Garlands mode. I had to put an end to it all as I banged Zuma’s cone of shame back on. I mean who wants to give one to their partner with a cone on their head? Come to think of it…………….. So night one all sorted. I let the youngest fall asleep in our bed and I await a tap on the head as she wants the iPad to watch “Horrid Henry” at 7.30 in the morning. I leave you with Boney M who have a special place in my musical heart.
So Saturday and the kids were up sharpish at 5.30 for cleaning duties. The good news was a rare saturday off work, the bad news and it was “Daddy” duties and taking the eldest to Ice Skating. On the plus side to kill some time whilst she was having the lesson we went to the B&M in Widnes which seemed Costco in size. So many goodies under one roof. Anyway the kids ended up having Easter Eggs for breakfast. It was time to bring the bribes out next and each child was on a tenner bonus if Liverpool win the derby and they didn’t annoy me all match. So thats £30 down for the day and to not be accused of neglecting my children we headed off to Crosby beach. Though the eldest was wasn’t interested. She is 13 in August and everything is such an effort and why move out of the loft bedroom when you have Netflix ? So we went the beach and the kids enjoyed splashing in the sea and plying on the sand dunes. The tide was on the way out and we got the obligatory picture with the iron men of Antony Gormley’s “Another Place” I instructed Holly (5) not to touch the willy. Well you know what happened next and can see by the cheeky smile below.
Kids wanted McDonalds for tea on the way home and whilst not my favourite it will have to do for my pre race preparation for there Vitality Liverpool Half Marathon I was doing on Sunday. 4 Desperados where screaming at me from the fridge and this half marathon had earned the title of least preparation so I necked them. I mean at this late stage it couldn’t make things any worse.
So Sunday and race day up early and happy I only had 4 Desperados left as I would have had a couple of more me and the sister in law (Emma) got the train into town ready to start. Emma is in the middle of trying for a marathon the poor fool, been there done that and lost the toe nails but I had agreed to run with her to get her a new personal best. We started off fast for Emma and it was a lovely day to run. My pre race reservations about lack of training evaporated as I was fine and we ended up getting 2:25 which was 15 mins quicker than Emma’s last half marathon. Job done and she must have the fattest fitness instructor going. But my results are there so if you want to pay me to drink Desperados the night before the race I too will run with you and get you a PB. Post race was walking the dogs and doing household chores (Come back Mrs Fay all is forgiven) The in-laws had decided to do a post race BBQ and I have around 2000 calories to consume to get to zero calories. Mid BBQ there was a loud crack and the arm of my patio chair had a crack in. Phewww thought I was going to be one of those fat bastards that breaks garden furniture. Well one burger and beer later there was a louder crack and a thud and the chair imploded much like the Twin Towers and I was in the same position but on the decking. Oh how they laughed. I just put my arm up to the table and had a swig of my beer whilst remaining on the decking. I eventually got up grabbed a cookie and declared “Diet starts tomorrow” With Mrs Fay’s flight from Belfast coming in she turned up and as the prezzies were given out I was left empty handed.
The hard work starts for Emma now pushing on for the full marathon. Being a veteran of two marathons I know how bloody hard they are. People see you on the day with you medal and say well done for running 26.2 miles. They never congratulate the hours of hard work before and the numerous half marathons you do training for no medals which enables you to get to the position of cracking the big one. I am sure with the same dedication you are showing Emma you will reach you goal. Sadly this lard arse personal trainer only does half marathons so you on your own for this one.
Fay x x x x x x x x
Well where do we start with this. First up when my current phone contract ends I am seriously thinking about just getting phone that is just a phone. We are all slaves to our phone. When my alarm goes in the morning after switching my alarm off the first thing I do is pick my phone up and through squinted eyes as my eyes adjust to the bright light see what alerts I have. This is fucking sad. The phone is then never out of my sight for the rest of the day. It ventures to the toilet with me and last thing at night I am on the bastard thing. I even kid myself and settle down to sleep the reach an arm out and grab the phone for one last look. How Mrs Fay must be wishing my arm arches the other way, or maybe not unless its my birthday or chrimbo. Now I readily admit I am a social media slag with two Facebook, Twitter and Instagram accounts and how can I not mention this world renowned blog. But there comes a point when you think what the fuck is actually going on. We are all slaves to these bastard contraptions. So the world of Nokia awaits, you know those cool little phones that the battery lasts for about 7 days on. Funny enough though as my contract expires the rumoured I-phone 8 is due for release and we all know how much I love to bend over and be bummed by Apple products !!
Another stress of modern life is the school run. There are two ways to attack the school run. One in a 4×4 Chelsea Tractor that gives you the ability to “bounce” the car fully parked onto pavement. I am about to start a reclaim the pavements campaign this pisses me off so much. I reckon a by-law should be passed that any car fully on the pavement should be allowed to be covered in flour and eggs. Such is the madness of cars by my kids school it only takes one Chelsea Tractor stand off to bring the streets to a standstill. With infants and juniors by ours and feeding off a main road every morning is chaos. So if you decide to try and make it on foot you have the wacky races on the streets but also the added fun of little Beyonce or Diesel chopping at your heels with their scooters ( It’s Ok my youngest little Britney Mercedes Fay has one of these scooters) But the stresses of modern life are real. Just on the pavement by our infants school I had noticed a couple of miniature vodka bottles about. I thought nothing of it. But today there were to small wine bottles and a mars bar wrapper. Now walking the dogs for lunch the bottles were not there but then appeared later after the afternoon school run. Now I have visions of a sloshed parent getting rid of the empty bottles and scoffing a mars bar to sober up. I know my own tricks too well. I mean who does not like a double gin and biscuit boost around 3pm in the afternoon before you pick the kids up ? What just me ? Nah at least one person as the evidence shows below. What gets me is the way the bottles have been so neatly placed. Oh shit I need a drink to pick this bastard child up from school. Oh shit I better not get collared and leave evidence in the car. But hang on I am not a litter lout so I will place these two bottle neatly on the side ? It might explain the driving standards around the school roads. How can I look at the parents in the playground now without turning into Taggert and trying to work who the phantom boozer is. A few of the school mums are on my list !! I shall be looking for tell tale signs of Mars Bars around your mouth.
The other night me and middle sprog (Charlotte 9) headed to Tesco on Allerton Road and I bored her for about the 54th time with the tale of in ye olden days that my school used to be here. She wanted to buy some eater eggs for her mates ? I did warn here that buying Easter eggs so early that the Easter egg monster in our house might mean a few go missing before easter (Wrapper to be found by two miniature bottles of white wine on Dundonald Road) but she got them anyway. As ever when go for Tesco for one thing and come out with a whole range of fat bastard goodies. I like to keep up my tradition and I always buy a few tins of Tesco own brand beans to put into the food bank container on the way out of the shop. As I done this Charlotte looked at me like an alien had landed. “Why are you putting the tins in there” she said. I explained that some people didn’t have enough money for food so I always donate a few items that get passed to a place called a food bank where people who need food can pick stuff up. She could not quite get her head around the concept and quite right she fucking should not as well. It is 2017. Why do I even have to put items of food to be collected to pass on to people in my country who can’t afford food. Another stress of modern life. I wont go off on a rant and leave this parked here.
So modern life is stressful and has a whole lot more of stress to add to the above mentioned topics. The “Depression” word is becoming more understood. Maybe the phantom boozer on the school run just needs this to take the edge of modern life as he/she looks at her phone and see’s the people with their “Perfect” lives on Facebook pumped into their minds via their phone. Maybe they are worried that they are on the edge of a spiral of bad luck followed despair and be dependent on me lashing a few tins of beans to be collected for them. Maybe there are more deep routed and more sinister reasons to hit the grog. Who knows but we always have each other and friends and family. There is always a way up. Don’t let the bastards grind you down.
Fay x x x x x x x x