Why we should court CBB controversy & keep Perez IN!

There’s no denying that this years CBB has been an explosive one.   

But then, it was totally designed to be. 

This year’s housemates were, without a doubt, specifically cherry picked for their individual outrageousness in order to make the house as volatile as possible - as soon as possible.

I had so many expectations about the people who walked down that runway.  I knew once in the house, certain personalities would clash on a momentous scale in their ego-driven pursuit for alpha status. I also knew that it wouldn’t be long before the claws and the real personalities came out as a direct result.

When I found out that Katie Price was going in, I couldn’t wait for her to wipe that smarmy shitfaced smile off Katie ‘In my previous life I was a Tesco Lasagne’ Hopkins' face.  

But sadly, it wasn’t meant to be and you’ve got bonding over cups of tea and short memories to thank for that.

It seems that as soon as the ‘feisty’ characters walked through those infamous BB doors, they somehow left behind their backbones on the way in. 

I’ve always thought Katie ‘Good farm stock’ Hopkins was a nasty bastard and unlike some of the spineless shits in the house, my attitude towards her hasn’t changed one single bit. 

Pantomime baddie or not – She’s still a complete and utter moron.

Her obstinate views are stuck somewhere up some 19^th century aristocrats arse and her opinions are foolish and pig ignorant and I’m being extremely kind to the pig at that.

She manipulates every single opportunity to elevate herself by making others feel inferior but she does it in a very Machiavellian way - luring them (and others outside the house) in closer and closer so she can insult them (you) in a more ‘friendlier’ fashion. 

Her pathetic attempts at crying because ‘Compliments are my Achilles Heel, darling’ are contrived, disingenuous and would give any alligator a good run for its money. 

I’m quite disappointed that Michelle hasn’t picked up on (or doesn’t have the balls to address?) how Horsey Dolly openly patronises her to her face . . . and poor KP’s spider lashes nearly blew clean off when Red Rum called her weak for not explaining the reasons why she nominated Calum in the manner that dictator-in-waiting KH wanted her to. And yet, no one batted a heavily mascaraed eyelid.

So that’s why I kind of like Perez  – even if it’s just for the sheer entertainment value of seeing him get right up that massive snotter of hers.

I read in a rag recently that they were thinking of putting KP’s ex best friend in the house (the one who shagged her ‘I’ve got impulsive shithead think with my cock disorder’ husband).  I genuinely hope they don’t. 

I hope they put in the wife of the bloke who got lost on his way to Specsavers and ended up half naked in a field having sex with a horse instead. 

Suicide = Where one person's suffering ends and another's begin . .

Dearest, dearest Sambo,

My heart bleeds thinking of the anguish, pain and unbearable suffering that you must have been feeling before you made the devastating decision to do what you did.  

My heart breaks at the fact that while you were taking your last breath, I was only five minutes away from you. I could have saved you Sam. I would have helped you, I would have protected you and talked to you. I would have LISTENED to you. I would have held you while you found your feet again. I would have shared your burden and proved to you that you were strong and there was hope. 

I would have showed you that people really love you Sam. I know in your darkest depths of despair you probably assumed that they didn’t but they really, really did and now you’ve left an infinite abyss that you will never witness to appreciate exactly just how MUCH people did love you.  

I had to go into the park to find you today, Sam. I needed to feel your sorrow and to cry for you. I needed to see the place that you'd chosen to say goodbye to us all. I needed to punish myself for not being there for you when you really, really needed someone.

I can’t even begin to describe the profound sadness I felt upon seeing that fucking shrined lamppost.  

You were worth so very much more than that. 

So, as your pain ends, ours now begins as we grieve and mourn the beautiful person you were in our struggle to accept that you’re gone forever.

Unfathomable and unbearable as that is. 

Breaking up with your babies is hard to do

I must be the only mother who is actually dreading the moment when their kids finally break free from the apron strings to embark upon their own personal journey onto Comprehensive school.

My kids and I have been cogs of the same machine since the day they were born. 

To be able to just be cool with them disappearing into the horizon of god knows how many miles away from me sends actual shivers down my spine. 

No longer will I be required to carry their school jumper/pack up box/paper mache models or be able to kiss them goodbye as I wave them off at the traffic lights each morning. 

No longer will I hold out my arms and swizz them around in the air when they’ve had a shit day at school.  

No longer will I be able to hold their hands as I deliver them to their caregivers and educators for the whole day.

No longer will they tell me that Morgan said a swear word in class and that Rhys fell back on his chair and banged his head on the radiator, or that Jake nicked a Frosties cereal bar from the tuck shop.

But most painfully of all, they will no longer be my little babies. 

In fact, they are most probably on the cusp of being my mortal enemies for the next five years or so maybe. 

And as much as I hate to admit that we’ve reached that dreaded point when I have to practically say goodbye to the two most beautiful, beautiful children, I have to have great faith that not only are my babies mini-me’s in sight, mind, like and nature.. 

I hope they also have the ability, good humour and common sense to think quickly on their feet so they can keep themselves safe.

But most importantly of all, I hope that they are lucky.

Internet + real life = absolute bollocks.

So I’m sure you all want to hear how the Disney fairytale ended? 

Well, it ended with the princess walking into a boozer to discover prince was not idol incarnate but more like sheer stalemate. 

I carried the whole conversation of the evening just to keep things bobbing afloat.  I gave the right oooh's and the right ahhh's in all the right places, laughed a bit, enquired a bit but the fact of the matter was - he simply just wasn’t attractive to me. 

I had built him up to be such an Adonis.  My very own globe-trekking action man who disappointingly ended up rocking such an ultimate fashion faux paux outfit that I wanted to take myself outside and kick my own fucking head in. 

WTF?  I had been stressing myself out for nowt. 

I know photography puts on a few pounds but did his head really look that small in his pictures?  

I beg to differ. 

Anyway, moral of story is:  If a man appears to be too good to be true on the internet, it's because in real life, he most probably is.

Good things really do come to those who wait . . .

They do say that all good things come to those who wait and I can definitely confirm that in my particular circumstances, this is most definitely the case. 

Three men defined my romantic life but they are not the same three men that I had the misfortune of having long term relationships with.

The first guy that I became besotted with was a year older than me at school. He had the cutest arse in his Farah trousers and his blonde streaked, shoulder length hair screamed out ‘sex object’ to me.  He teased me, ridiculed me but never relented to giving in to me and granting me my dearest wish.   

But fast forward ten years on and he couldn’t take his eyes off me when we hit town one Christmas Eve and we fell into the same bar.  Fast forward another five years on and I bumped into him at Sheffield’s Tramlines Festival.  Same thing. Eyes on me, mouth shut up.

So, who do you think I bump into in our local park when the kids want an impromptu go on the swings, coming home from ASDA?  Yep.  Him. And guess what?  Same thing.  Eyes on me, gob clamped closed. 

Men eh.  They need a right royal boot up the arse.

OK so second fella, complete superstar. Well, he was to me when I was growing up. Football apprentice for a local team with eyes to die for and a physique of the same stature. Had him toothpasted to my wall in the late eighties and it was the only time that I actually showed any real interest in football. 

Fast forward twenty years on and here we are, sending each other sexy texts, pictures and stories - and we have done for the past seven years. All thanks to Facebook. 

And guess what?  I’m finally meeting him for a date in a couple of day’s time. Eek. 

Fella number three? Well, let’s say that he was truly coveted by a LOT of females back in the day. 

And before a cruel twist of fate deprived him of a glowing career, I was privileged to have gone out on a very lovely date with him.  He really was a true gentleman. 

So, yep. You know what’s coming. . .  I recently bumped into him too. Had a fantastic couple of hours with him and I truly give blessings for such a lovely encounter. 

So the morals of this story are. . . .

1)      Blokes really are like buses.   None come for ages and then three come at once. 

2)      Good things REALLY DO come to those who wait.