Where there’s girls, there’s bitches...

To say that it takes a lot for humans to get on is a real understatement I think.  

  

It takes time, compromise and a shitload of commitment to make real friendships work and it can take forever (if you’re lucky) to find a network of true friends you can count on on one hand.  

  

In the very long process of trying to find who your bona fide people are, you will inevitably come across a whole lot of shitfaces who will pose very convincingly as your friends, but who over time will prove to be the absolute opposite. 

  

Seeing my daughter come home from school devastated because all of a sudden, and for no explicable reason, the girls she once considered her friends have unexpectedly now become her mortal enemies, makes me want to smash their evil little faces in. 

My heart breaks when I hear how her ‘kookiness’ has now become ‘weird’ and how her sensitivity and kindness have somehow now become a beacon for her to be bullied and demeaned.

I've been in that same dark place where she is right now, and I too have felt those very same feelings of despair, confusion and isolation that she feels because her ‘friends’ have materialised to be absolutely nothing of the sort.  It hurts. A lot, I know.

  

I too was laughed at, publicly ridiculed, called hurtful names, humiliated, ostracised by my so called friends at the exact same age and it’s a real shame that nothing's changed in the thirty years since I was 11. 

  

But then again I suppose, some things never will. 

You just need to learn to rise above it. 

  

Certain girls are genetically modified to be cunts and that’s exactly what I tell my daughter.

Autistic? My son?

I’d always concluded that my son’s inability to sit still and concentrate on anything for longer than five minutes was merely the workings of a slightly hyperactive child. 

I didn’t make a song and dance about his ominous attention span throughout the years because when he wanted to, he’d happily sit transfixed to the TV watching The Simpsons and the whole ‘Dr Who’ back catalogue for hours on end.   

Besides, I just thought that he (like all kids do) ignored his Mum on purpose.   

His inability to see things from others perspective was what I thought ‘a boy thing’. 

I mean, I am a female, so what the hell did I know what boys really feel like.

I put his outbursts down to him being ‘a spoilt brat’ despite him still being stuck in the terrible two’s at nearly eleven years-old.

Take earlier for instance.

Mum, can I have this Dr Who book?

No.  I can’t afford it.

Whhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy?

Because if I spend £4 on you then I have to do the same for your sister and I can’t afford to spend nearly £10 on magazines.  Not today anyway. 

Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy? (Only fifty decibels louder, so the whole shop comes to an absolute standstill)

I said no.

Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy?  x 15 times (and I am NOT joking).

This was followed by a sit-in demonstration, a screaming tantrum and a totally unprovoked attack on an intricate bottled boiled sweets display, finished off with those loving words... 

I hate you. You’re nasty.

Now I love my son with all my heart but, when I tell you that his whining and demanding, groaning, moaning, crying, screaming, shouting, tormenting his sister, repetitive tapping, clicking, rocking and asking the same question sixty zillion times over sends me to the point of insanity, I’m REALLY, REALLY not lying to you. 

But, when you have two children the same age, who get treated & loved exactly the same, you’re able to measure and compare their progress and development over the years.

You can’t help but notice the difference when one child responds to the word ‘No’ with a simple ‘Ok, Mummy’ and the other turns into the Devil incarnate on the sheer breath of the word.  

But now Thank God, I’m really NOT going mad.

I am legitimately sane.  I really don’t have a lunatic child. 

There’s a profound reason for his challenging and extremely difficult behaviours. 

He has a social and communication disorder and because he’s so highly functioning, it took forever for the people who influence decisions to pick it up.

The most ironic thing is, his diagnosis is the same thing I’ve been telling my kitchen cupboards for years. 

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.