Hallowe’en Fun? Just Say No!

It’s half past nine in the morning and i’m already angry enough to fling kittens into a mincer. Why?

Give this a read.

That’s a story from the Westcountry’s finest paper of news, the Western Gazette, detailing the Avon & Somerset constabulary’s hard stance on kids looking adorable and enjoying sweeties. Well, that’s how I read it.

Look, I know exactly what the problem is. Every year, while kids go from door to door, being unbearably cute and asking for chocolate, there are a few little bastards round these parts who hammer on doors, ask for cigarettes and cash and then wing a handful of eggs at any house which refuses them. The problem is that the police are entirely too lazy to deal with the perpetrators, so would rather cast a shadow of misery over the entirety of Hallowe’en.

The line which really grips my shit is “We would just like to remind people that if they intend to trick and treat – which is not endorsed by the constabulary”. Not endorsed by the constabulary. First of all, it’s trick OR treat, not trick and treat, you feckless halfwits. But more importantly, the fact that it’s “not endorsed” by the po-po is a polite way of saying “we would MUCH rather you didn’t do it at all”.

Balls to the police and their endorsement, or lack thereof. Balls to the little swine who’ve made a point of ruining Hallowe’en for kids who just want to blag enough free chocolate to send them into a diabetic coma. Balls to whoever designed that poster because that font is far too cheerful for such a miserable sentiment and finally, balls to anyone who prints it off.

Don’t misunderstand me, you’re more than welcome to ignore trick or treaters if you so wish. I’ll not quibble with that, because that’s personal choice. But by putting that poster in your window you’re MORE likely to get your house egged, trees covered in toilet rolls, tyres slashed, whatever. Because to the kind of git who goes out on Hallowe’en armed with a dozen eggs and a can of spray paint, that sign might as well read “MISERABLE TOSSER LIVES HERE! PLEASE DESTROY MY HOUSE!”

If you’re not against the idea of kids indulging in a bit of harmless fun, i’ve done my own poster. Stick one of these up in your window, if you like.


Download a copy of this hastily thrown together abomination here.

If you do get anyone pushing their luck, call the police. If they’re not too busy designing a “Fuck Christmas” poster, i’m sure they’ll show up.


It has been pointed out to me by a few Twitter folk that the report states that extra police will be working on August 31st. That’s fabulous. They’ll be able to deal with any issues surrounding the Moldovan National Language Day. Not sure how it helps with Hallowe’en, mind…

The Sick Note

A while ago now, Child Unit 2 was hit by a rather nasty bug and we had a few restless nights here while he recovered. Nothing serious, of course, but it is difficult to sleep when one of the shorter members of the household is waking up every half hour, covered in assorted bodily excretions.

When the devilish bug first reared it’s ugly head, Host Body found himself all a-flutter and in the wee small hours, began scribbling something in his drafts folder. I’ve unearthed it, polished it up and present it to you now.

Ladies and gentleman, I give you “The Sick Note” (or “Ramblings Of A Sleep-Deprived Assclown”)

As i’m writing this, Child Unit 2 is feeling rather under the weather. I’m sure he’s probably fine but Host Body is doing what any responsible, loving parent would do, freaking the hell out over things and generally making an arse of himself.

Marital Unit is currently tucked up in bed, the little lad asleep next to her, being as always the level-headed, sensible type that she is. She has given Host Body one simple task, email her college tutor to explain that she won’t be in today on Tuesday as she’ll be taking Child Unit 2 to the doctor.

Even he couldn’t screw that up, drafting a simple mail as follows:

Dear Wossname

Really sorry, but Marital Unit won’t make it in on Tuesday. She’s taking our son to the doctor because he’s poorly as all shit. Hope that’s ok?

Hugs and kisses
Host Body

Well, something like that. Anyway, gets the point across doesn’t it?
But it’s hardly elegant. So i’ve taking the liberty of sending this instead…

Dear madam, I must ask of you a moment of your time
To read this simple message, laid out for you in rhyme,
Which will, I trust, serve as explanation plain and clear
to explain to you exactly why instead of there, i’m here.

By here, of course, I mean at home. Which is where I was last night
sat at my computer, with many an essay still to write
But as I toiled o’er textbooks and Wikipages by the ton
I heard a fitful stirring from my supposedly sleeping son.

I glanced up from my studies, my heart did miss a beat.
And then, a sound most chilling. Teeny tiny feet!
The boy awoke! And so, pausing only to close my book
I rose up from the sofa and readied a stern parental look

I’ve been here before and expected some excuse
as to why he could not sleep. Perhaps a glass of juice?
Or maybe another monster, lurking ‘neath the bed
Some terror in the dark, which filled him with such dread

That sleep was not an option. For he must stand guard!
Lest the demons in the closet steel his favourite Pokemon cards.
Or some horror from the sock drawer which, with a single glance
could cause a frightful soiling of his tiny underpants.

T’was something of this ilk which I expected from the lad
but the reality was different and oh so very sad.
For his little face was flushed a most unpleasant shade of red
As he shuffled towards me, sobbing, clutching his wee head

To my eye, there came a tear, at this wretched sight
So saddened was I by my wee boys dreadful plight
And so it was that I tucked him up, besides me in my bed
That I might watch over him as to the land of nod he sped

A restless night we spent, the wee one tossed and turned
One minute frozen to the bone, the next his for’ead burned
I snatched a few brief minutes sleep, as he rested still
But who could truly rest, with their beloved child ill

And so it is with great regret, that I must write to say
I will not be attending my scheduled lectures on this day
But I hope to return soon, to my studies and my friends
And shall, with renewed vigour, strive to make amends

Kind regards,
Marital Unit of Host Body

I reckon that’ll cover it.


Five Stages Of Phone Loss

Everybody is different, special, unique, which is something to be celebrated. But it’s nice to know that, no matter what, there are some things that make us all the same. Like losing stuff. I’ve lost my phone.

It’s infuriating. Not the actual loss, so much, but the crap that comes with it. Like stupid bloody questions.

“Have you looked everywhere?” No. I haven’t the time to look literally everywhere, this is a big old planet and we’ve not even plumbed the depths of the deepest oceans. Besides which, if I had looked everywhere I would have SODDING FOUND IT!

“Where did you lose it?” What a sodding question! You don’t know what the word “lose” means, do you?

We’ve all lost a phone at some point, i’ve no doubt. Most of the time, we find it again after a brief initial panic. We do that thing, where we have someone else call the phone and then wander about the house, listening for our ring tone.

“It’s ringing! Can you hear it!” NO, BECAUSE YOU’RE BLOODY SHOUTING YOU HALFWIT!

But then it turns up. Huzzah!
Mine hasn’t turned up.
I’m OK with this now, believe it or not. I’ve said my goodbyes.  I’ve been through the five stages of phone loss.
You know about the five stages, right?


ME: “Have you seen my phone?”

MARITAL UNIT: “You’ve lost it, haven’t you?”

ME: “No. I had it a minute ago, but now I can’t find it.”

MARITAL UNIT: “So, it’s lost?”

ME: “No, no, no. It’s just…misplaced”

MARITAL UNIT: “Lost then.”

ME: “Not at all. It’s here somewhere, but I don’t know where.”


ME: “…you’re lost.”


ME: “You’ve hidden it, haven’t you!”

MARITAL UNIT: “No. Why the hell would I do that?”


MARITAL UNIT: “Calm down…”


MARITAL UNIT: “Are you having some sort of episode?”

ME: “…you’re an episode.”


ME: “Okay phone. You don’t like me and I don’t like you, but if you come out from wherever the hell you are, i’ll buy you a new Micro SD card. 16gb. Would you like that? Would you like a 16gb Micro SD card?”

MARITAL UNIT: “Are…are you trying to make a deal with your lost phone?”

ME: “I do what I must. I need my phone!”

MARITAL UNIT: “I could help you look for it, if you want?”

ME: “Thanks love. Tell you what, if you find it i’ll buy you a new Micro SD card”

MARITAL UNIT: “…what?”


ME: “I’ll never find it.”

MARITAL UNIT: “I’m sure it will turn up.”

ME: “No, it’s gone forever. I’ll never use a phone again. No-one will text me or call me for the rest of my life.”

MARITAL UNIT: “That’s a bit mu-”

ME: “They won’t, I tell you! I shall live a lonely, phoneless life! No more for me the hedonistic delight of the text. The giddy thrill of hearing the beepity beeps! The heart-pounding excitement of wondering who it is! The dizzying lows of realising it’s another PPI scam! WOE! WOE UNTO THE MOBILE-LESS!”

MARITAL UNIT: “Have you looked everywhere?”


MARITAL UNIT: “I’ll fetch the sedative”


ME: “Fuck it. I’ll buy a new phone.”

So folks, any recommendations?