Sunday, 29 November 2015


Just by retweeting/ following me on Twitter or liking/sharing on Facebook I can enter you into this giveaway to win ANY t-shirt or babygrow from the shop, customised for you! This is just a simple way for me to try and reach more followers.

The rules are as follows:

1. UK entrants only- Sorry about that!
2. Names will be given numbers and then the winner generated from a web tool such as
3. This giveaway is not connected to Facebook/ Twitter.
4. The prize is a t-shirt or babygrow with the winner's choice of design. No cash alternative will be offered. I may use pictures of the prize in my advertising.
5. Winner will be drawn 6.12.15 at midday.

Good luck! xx

Sunday, 8 November 2015

My Massive Pants

I have finally given in.
Long have I loved the security of the massive pant, all that bum coverage and high enough tummy protection.
I do remember a "brief" period (mwah ha) of adventurously buying brightly coloured, bow- ridden thongy things, I think it was in the first years at uni, when boyfriends were new and alcohol was still in my system on the next morning's shopping trip. Using public launderettes also helped I guess, wanting to look "shexy" plus being the better side of a size 12.

I still thought though, years later, that I could mask the full granny pants effect, a lovely lacey waistband, plain black, no one need even know that I am getting older... and wider...

M&S ran out of my favourite knickers though, and as I had typically left it until the very last, draughty, threadbare, elastic-pinging moment to get new undies, in desperation I grabbed these beauties.

Just look at them.

I keep thinking someone has put their ancient relative's washing in with mine. I actually can't believe I'm wearing them. Is this "letting yourself go"? They're even floral, for fuck's sake.

Comfy as fuck too, obviously, but what have I done?

I turned to wearing leggings a long time ago, they are a staple for me more than jeans ever were, and I do love a good smock. No one could ever accuse me of being fashionable, modern or even a flattering dresser, and I have never cared amazingly about that, but the pants? These pants are a bridge too far. But I don't think there's any turning back, not now.

Perhaps the time has come, at the grand old age of 35, for me to stop giving a flying monkeys. I keep waiting to feel like a grown up, but OAPs tell me it never happens! I'm very definitely a grown-up, I have a house, a child, bills to pay and cleaning to do. Somehow these things have happened over the last ten years and I still don't believe I'm an adult.

But these pants, my god.
These pants tell me I'm ancient as fuck.

Wednesday, 21 October 2015

Now we are Five, and going to school!

I have no excuses, my blogging has totally dried up. I kept thinking of LOADS of ideas for blog posts, but didn't want to write because either nobody would read them, or because there are already a ton of "mummy bloggers" already doing it.

Well, SCREW that. I love writing and talking shit, so I need to get it out, regardless!


Time has gone by and this little dumpling:

has grown sooooooo much into this rather smart schoolgirl:

And I'm sure I'm the same as every mother in that looking at those two photos makes me want to cry! She is a completely different person! Oh how I miss those chubby little cheeks and huge eyes!
It seems like a world away, and also only yesterday.

School has brought with it a whole new set of worries, achievements and well, confusion. I thought I'd know it all as a teacher, but nothing prepares you for THE OTHER SIDE. 
When I was teaching and parents dropped their kids off at school and insisted on lingering, I'd roll my eyes and wish they would bugger off so little Helvetica could have a quick cry and then get on with things.
 I'd answer their myriad questions at the end of the day and pretend to care (I did care, but caring 30 times is hard) that the triplets all had runny noses, or that Django couldn't quite wipe his own arse yet. 

OH how the tides do turn. The cruel irony is not lost on me.

How big should her school shoes be? What if they're not quite right and chafe her all day? 
Speaking of ALL DAY, won't she DIE of tiredness?
They don't have toys on the playground like at nursery, what will she DO?
What if she can't make friends?
What if she can't wipe her arse?
How can she be expected to manoeuvre tights?
Will she eat the school dinners? What if she doesn't eat anything and passes out halfway through "We're going on a Bear Hunt"?
What if she turns into a complete bitch? (I've heard about this)
What if she gets scared?
What if she ALWAYS cries EVERY morning?
What if she hates school and refuses to go and and and...

She did cry, an awful lot, which surprised me as she's quite a confident kid. But starting school is a massive deal for them (at the time) and at the moment we're battling finger and sleeve nibbling, and "friend worries".  When I actually brave the school gates throng and talk to someone else though, it turns out they all have the same. Some kids have regressed to thumb sucking, some are still crying and may for a while, some are tantrumming...
All the parents are as worried as each other, and also trying to remember that we're all in the same boat, millions of these boats have gone before us, and everything will be ok. 
My teacher head knows that everything will be ok, but my mum head is full of questions.

So if you're not there yet, remember you're not alone.

We're almost at the first half term, and I'm pretty sure all that has mattered to my Duck is 

a) A goodbye hug and kiss every morning.
b) What's for dinner?

I think I can manage that.

Saturday, 16 May 2015

10 Ways having a dog is NOT like having a baby

You've all heard it! Here is why it is not the same. Feel free to add some!

1. You can give them away.

2. It is acceptable to lock them in a cage.

3. You can leave them outside the supermarket.

4. Convention says you chuck them in the boot of the car.

5. You feed them by putting a bowl of mush on the floor when you feel like it.

6. Their teeth shouldn't go anywhere near your nipples. Ideally.

7. They don't ask why.

8. You take them to the vet once a year if you're lucky (rather than the doctor every week).

9. When they wake you up at the crack of dawn you can throw them a bone and shout at them to shut up.

10. They don't have to go to god damn awful birthday parties.

Sunday, 18 January 2015

Why can't we be friends?

I went for a drive today, for about 40 minutes, through gorgeous countryside and some scenic little villages. As I approached a village I saw a cluster of beautifully kept thatched cottages, then a quaint little village shop, a tea shop and then more thatched cottages. It was all surrounded by lush trees and fields and to be honest, was something straight out of my dreams. Very English, old fashioned.
As I bumbled along trying to observe the 20mph speed limit, I imagined selling our house and somehow finding a tiny yet amazing cottage of our own to move to, and how somehow I would work from home, keep chickens and look out at the view all the time.

I rounded a corner and there was a house with a St George's cross flag proudly flapping in the garden. A couple of doors down there was a Union Jack (on proper flag poles of course, this is no lower class village!) and then I noticed a few posters for a certain political party dotted around.
I was so disappointed! I don't want to live amongst a bunch of racists!

I don't understand why people want to keep England all to themselves, why they have such issues with foreigners "taking all our jobs" and "stealing our medical care". How does that make sense? 
Why is it "ours"?
 Why is one person entitled to more or less than anyone else? 
We don't choose to be born and we don't choose where to be born, so surely if we're in a country which has these luxuries then we are lucky? If those less fortunate travel here to try to get in on the action, that just makes them smart. And people DIE trying to get here.

I don't know, the whole national pride (of any country) just makes me really uncomfortable. It's good to celebrate culture and differences, and be proud of our history and show these things to visitors, but when we start suggesting one country or region is better than another it all gets a bit horrible. Even popular sports between countries make me uneasy.
Why can't we be friends?

People cling to their nationality and monarchy as if that is how life has and always should be. Monarchy is actually a fairly recent thing, and if your ruler was Henry VIII or Queen Victoria would you love them as much? It's gone all celebrity and there's no way you'd admire the Middleton so much if she was ugly and camera-shy.
As for the "this is how it has always been" argument, No, it really hasn't. For a long time we didn't have immunisations, but now only very  odd sceptics of science would dare to put their child's life at risk. How it has always been is not the future.
If you weren't white in the not so distant past your life in Britain could be a nightmare, although some archaic political parties today still think that would be fair.
If you dared to joke about the Queen's speech, it would be the traditional thing to have your head cut off, preferably in front of your family. Mmm nice.
I'm talking about progress, a more informed future- do you REALLY believe any race is less human than ours? That because they were born in a different place that means "tough luck, this is ours"?
You really think that your kids socialising with "their" kids is going to infect them somehow? It's such a load of rubbish.
It's backwards, it's ignorance. Maybe there is a reason for that ignorance, but not now. I'm telling you here and now, that it's not ok.
You CAN be friends.

Wednesday, 23 July 2014

She's in Fashion

OMG the kid is so into her clothes right now. I'm afraid she may be following in her mum's quirky (read: odd) style footsteps.
Ever since dressing in yellow leggings and a yellow t-shirt and declaring "I'm a banana", that has been the go-to outfit for Daphne Duck. If there is green in the equation it's obviously "some apple".
However, somewhat encouraged by her mother, Daph has also adopted stripes as her uniform whole-heartedly. Most of the time I am really happy for her to, erm, express herself with colourful outfits, and you may have even caught me googling "yellow shoes" last week, just so she could complete the banana look, BUT...
there are times when I have to suggest she has a word with FiFi.
You see, FiFi loves her rainbow leggings, and she loves her rainbow top. She loves her rainbow socks, and she loves all rainbow things generally. BUT, there comes a time, early in the morning, when FiFi has had a bit of special blueberry juice the night before, when rainbow covering every inch of Daphne's ALREADY LOUD body is a bit too much. Let's tone down on the visuals at least, right?
I do not want to stifle the kid. But seriously, she looks like she's on a Gay Pride march. Which would be fine, I'd be totally ok with that, but she's a bit young yet.

PS: Sorry for saying OMG. I've been hanging out with 8 year olds.

Tuesday, 15 April 2014


Hey, long time no write!
I have been quite busy lately, and it has led me to make a few decisions... My small Daphne duck is 3 now, and goes to nursery a few days a week.
We need a new fence, and an MOT for the car, and I'm getting fed up of socks and pants with holes in (definitely not the kinky kind). I need to go back to "real" work. With real money, which can actually pay for stuff.
I'm teaching again now, and it's fine, but it takes up a lot of time. And I'm knackered.

I also happened to get a lot of orders this month, GREAT! My effort and marketing is finally paying off! However, completing these orders has been tricky. Stressful. I've even let a couple of people down, and I am not a fan of that at all. And if it isn't fun, I don't want to do it.

Poor old Daph is having to cope with a lot of changes at the moment, two different nurseries, no mum at her beck and call every minute (phew!) and her sleeping pattern is all over the place, making for a tired and grizzly family. On the days I'm at home with her I want to be cuddling, making cardboard box villages and painting animals, not checking my phone for order details and nipping away to sew buttons on.

I can't keep up, something has got to give! And it looks like it's the craft... I know some people are superwomen and can master all of these things and be super-organised, but I am definitely not that woman.

There is no way this could be the end. I would go crazy.
So, I am going to stop taking orders for now. Instead I'll be selling what I've already made (A LOT!), and making things when I get the chance. I will hopefully be more motivated, and make some beautiful one-off items which I'll put in the Etsy shop. I won't panic if nobody buys them, as it will be for fun again, for me, and I'll be happy :) hoooooray!

I won't lie, when that little icon pops up to say someone has ordered an item, it's the ultimate validation isn't it? Someone wants me, they want something I made! They like it, they would pay actual money for it! It's a huge buzz, and I am not looking forward to missing out on that, tears may be shed... but lately the t-shirts I've been making have had quite specific requirements, which don't involve a lot of my own creativity, which wasn't really the idea. I'd much prefer people buy my ideas...because I'm a cow like that. If I have limited time now to sew and make, I want it to be on projects made up entirely by me, things that I love working on.

Ironically, since writing this post (it took a few days of bits as I'm THAT hectic) I have had LOADs of Etsy orders! Way more than ever, what's going on?? And a big order for the lovely upcoming The Little Geekery Company, which is going to be awesome.
So I need to get those all finished first... and then have a think...

How do you keep organised, and keep hold of all your different hats? :)