Something had to go right eventually. That’s just the law of averages.

Like every conscientious mother who wishes the best for their child’s school, I was dragged kicking and screaming into the PTA.

I genuinely was. This is how my view of the conversation went.

Bestie – The entire PTA are standing down at the end of the year, they need a new team.

Nellie – Let me just stop you there. Fuck off!

Bestie – We could do it together.

Nellie – Jog on, we could do it together. I’m just not that sort of mum…I don’t like people!

Bestie – I’ve set up a meeting for tomorrow.

Nellie – Well, good luck with that, I’m not going.

Bestie – Shall I pick you up?

Nellie – No, NO, NOOOO! I’m not doing it!!!

A year and a half later and I’m still foofing doing it.

Now, the school are building a memorial garden, and I grudgingly agreed to help out. By grudging, I mean I rugby tackled one woman out of the running, yanked another back by her hair and slid across that conference table like a chuffing ninja to shove my Pinterest board in the chairman’s face….She liked my ideas.

In a couple of weeks we’re gonna meet to discuss implementing them.

So, I got started with some examples.

I first got polystyrene balls from The Range for a £1 each, to use as my base.

A couple of £1 nets of clear flat marbles that I painted with nail varnish, and baked till they were slightly burned. (They get this autumnal jewelled look that I have a passion for at the mo.)

Next, I tried gluing them, as one blog suggested with e6000. Well, this just melted the polystyrene. I advise you not to do that.

I did try Dove craft glue, which is brilliant for papercraft and has great hold on many things. Not polystyrene though, and I didn’t have time to stand for five minutes apiece till it grabbed. (I didn’t use the glue gun because I know from experience that it can easily be cracked off.)

Moving on, Silicone. This holds to glass like shit to a shovel, but needs a full 24 hours to dry. Nevertheless, this was my decided fixative.

Omfg, what a palaver! Because, it being a spherical shape, I could only do small areas at a time. But I persevered over five days, and even then the silicone didn’t feel particularly fond of bonding to the polystyrene. It could be a combination of, I didn’t leave it long enough to cure, I was trying to stick silicone that had half set before I used it (my hubby had left the cap off,) or it just don’t stick well to polystyrene. But once, I dropped the ball on the table, and all the marbles fell off.

To the grouting!

I used ready mixed stuff from Wilko, for £2.75 a tub.

Again, I was limited to small patches. (Spherical)

I used my fingers to distribute the grout between the spaces, and a damp sponge to smooth it.

(You will get a fine residue over the glass, but don’t you fret none, that can be cleaned off when the grout is dry)

Even though I did all of the above, I still found marbles dropped off – So yes, by this time, I just stuck them back on with the glue gun because of time constraints.

It might also be responsible to note, I did this without gloves, and my hands were left red and itchy. Now you know. I’ve made all the mistakes so you don’t have to. What I’m really saying is, if you hurt, damage, or maim yourself in anyway, it’s not my responsibility. Follow the instructions on all materials used, and be your own health and safety guide.

Once dry, (about 8 hours) you can clean the residue of the glass with windolene and a soft cloth. I also scraped off any hard bits with my nails.

The finished article.

And this pink one is a bit of an experiment. The glass is backed with pretty paper and card, then stuck on with a glue gun…which can be done in one sitting, and then grouted.

I completed it within a day. (I don’t know how water proof it’s gonna be though.)

So, err, yeaaah…GLUE GUN!


Can you use a glue gun to non-slip a rug?

I promise you the world and give you a rug, not even a magic carpet of endless wonder! I know, we were going to have a new venture, bursting with creativity, and three weeks into the New Year and I’ve given you fuck all…and a poxy rug.

In my defence….an artist doesn’t begin his finest piece with a scattered mind, he begins with a clarity of vision, and more importantly, a tidy studio, so I’ve been doin’ ‘ousework int I?

But I’m ‘ere now, so settle yourself down.

Anyhoo, my mum bought me a runner for Christmas to match a floor covering I currently have in me lounge.

Admittedly, it is an odd seasonal gift, but she might as well buy me something I wanted, than superfluous toot I later have to find a place for.

Unwrapping it, I’ve realised it don’t quite match, only now it’s too late to send it back. Never mind, I like it anyway, and once I’ve finished my hall way, that won’t match the living room either, so it don’t matter.

And so, to non-slip it. I am compltely aware the easiest thing is to buy non slip matting, cut it to size and glue it to the rug…but honestly, do you truly expect simplicity from me? Mummy likes to experiment!

So, I thought I’d try hot gluing it…GLUE GUN!

Although, the reason I’m trying this is because I have a ton of 7mm glue sticks for my tiny, almost defunct little glue gun, and I wanted to use them up.

I had a little look on Pinterest, found an instructional blog, and decided to give it a go.

It was very easy to do, just glue in lines, they don’t even have to be straight. (I got bored midway and started switching to glitter glue for funsies)

The result.

It don’t fecking work!

And the boy child said he could feel the ridges beneath his feet when he walked on it, and then I had to strip the hardened glue back off.


This is turning out to be not so much an instructional blog, as more of an instructional blog buster.

But I still need to non-slip the rug, if I’m not to surf the hallway at an unthinking moment and I am not blessed with the greatest of motor skills.

So, I’ll probably buy a non-slip mat and cut it to size.

Still, dogs like it.

What cruel wankery is this?

General consensus from last weeks post has wrought such brutish criticism that my verbosity was somewhat lacklustre, unamusing, and toothless!

What the fuck, mum? I have the flu, you were lucky you got anything more than a soiled tissue!

Plus, I came on in the middle of it 😩

It has given me a deep abiding hatred for Tampax and their Pearl range…defective, piece of shit, applicators that collapse on entry, making me as angry as…well, anyone else with a lump of dry cotton wedged half way up their growler.

Now I’ve finished talking about my indelicate woes, I know I’m supposed to be making bath bombs for Christmas, I even got the sweetest rose mould to make them in and a Lush dupe perfume oil from Bert the dealer to fragrance it with. It was going to be a very informative, and instructional post…but I guess I’ll do it next week.

o on this eve of Christmas observance include; gift wrapping my kids presents, a whole ton of laundry (I know, it’s built up,) vacuuming, changing my bedding and a general tidy up. Because what I’ve actually done today is re-read a Mills and Boon and ate an entire 16 pack of Ferraro Rocher in one sitting. (Boom, I didn’t think that was possible either, guess I was wrong)

I don’t know why I’m finding it so hard to get into the groove this festive period, Or why I’m so impatient to skip over it and get to the new year. Seems stoopid to me now I think about it. Maybe I should count my blessings of home and hearth, or maybe I should switch off Dickens Christmas Carol and get on with it.

Merry Christmas to you and yours peeps


If I had a pound for every time I got distracted, I should make bath bombs.

I’ve got the flu, or a cold… it feels like the flu, man flu. I’m lying in a skin meltingly hot bath, on Sunday afternoon, feeling all wretchedly despondent because I don’t know what direction to send my blog in.

I expended great energy making gingerbread cookies, which my delighted daughter spent the whole afternoon decorating.

The proof of the pudding is in the eating however…and I am no baker. So the rest of this batch went in the bin.

Not to be disheartened, I tried my hand at wax melts.

They smell awesome, and their softness (beeswax and coconut oil in equal parts, with a 2 to 1 lavender and sandalwood blend) means they make adorable little massage bars, but now they’re finished, so am I.

I’ve written a pattern for Fingerless flower gloves with crocodile stitch.

I’ll share the pattern when my niece has taken better photos

And, of course….

Glue gun

I yearn to be one of those defined blogs what has a genre though, and I don’t think angry bitch is classed as one.

(My bad, I did a quick google search, and angry bitch is an utterly valid genre!)

But I aspire to a more Phoenix rising from the ashes narrative, to hide my angry bitch deep inside, like I do with the rest of my crazy. To stand proud and declare; “Here is my contribution to the blogosphere, all hail in the glory of….stuff?”

My true achievement of late has been decluttering my house and in swiftly refilling it with the burden of Sisyphus’ Christmas past, present and yet to come.

In doing so, I’ve mortifyingly discovered my house needs to be de-grimed, redecorated and fixed up.

This isn’t just 2 years of moribundity.

This is an M&S shit gathering vicious circle of ten years living in it, raising two kids, two dogs and being blind to wear and tear.

Right this instant, with purposeful excitement I sit up in a slosh of green scented water, I think I know what I can do.

Lack of sustained interest will always be my most detrimental flaw. Once I’ve finished a project, I want to move on. But each room will need a different feel, theme and decor. By clearing my house I’ve given myself a brand new canvas.

I’m gonna turn my council house into a country cottage.

My CBD oil review

I suffer from chronic anxiety, and achy bits; joints, bones, muscles. No, not those bits…’ave some decorum.

I don’t have a formal diagnosis per se, because as a 38 year old overweight, anxious woman, I feel dismissed by my GP, and lack the confidence to pit myself against them.

Strangely, I don’t blame the doctors for their indifference either, they are striving against economic and societal limitations that have forced them to become angry, cynical shells of what they once dreamed they’d be.

I know this to be true because my husband also works for the NHS Everybody with a pitchfork or stick are out to get the medical profession and they are battered relentlessly from all directions.

I don’t know if my achy body is due to a fibromyalgic condition, or that I’ve gained three stone since giving up smoking and now weigh a whopping …mffmmbbble, my scales have never been accurate anyway.

So, when it comes to medication, I’m limited to over the counter painkillers which don’t do owt, or sneaking opioids my husband gets for his degenerative kinked back. And, because Opioids turn me into dysfunctional, mentally coshed zombie, I’m looking elsewhere…and have found CBD oil.

Like I said, I am not a young woman, so at one time in my life, I have tried cannabis in some form, maybe two forms…you could now class it as three I suppose. It’s never been my go to recreational drug of choice.

I’m not going to explain too deeply about its make up. There is tons of data out there that I don’t have the education to confirm or refute, there are people who can however. Do research, lots of it, and be aware that most information sites that extoll its impressive virtues, also happen to sell their own as the ‘highest quality.’

From what I concluded; the chemical bit that makes you fly high is the THC and the CBD bit is the part I want. This oil I bought still apparently contains traces of THC, but it won’t make you want to change the world with a fat spliff and a packet Maoams.

I’ve settled on a product of 500mg in a spray bottle, to be taken sublingually, bought from a kindly stranger named Bert, who I met in a pub with a nautical name.

Of course I foofing didn’t, but I’m not affiliated with anyone and I didn’t want a product link to distract from my words. At least this way you know I’m not getting a financial incentive for this review.

Kind of makes me feel more trustworthy don’t it?

According to the instructions that come with it, I should build up slowly over the first three days with a single dose. So that is what I did.

4 days after taking CBD oil

I’m still only taking a single dose, predominantly because I must have a particular sensitivity to cbd. I’ve had tummy upset and a squitty bot for the last 4 days.

Now, I’ve done some googling, abdominal pains and diarrhoea seems to be a recurring concern. Responding answers dismiss it as, you’re on other meds (which I ain’t) or it’s poor quality – which it could be, but Bert seems reputable so I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt.

I’d say, that if different people on different quality oil and different meds all have the same symptoms, and the one common denominator is cbd oil, the chances are, it’s probably the cbd oil.

Benefits have been, I’ve lost 4lbs – yay! But it is hardly surprising and not really sustainable. My husband said persevere, it might be my digestive system balancing out. He’s seen it being used in a palliative setting to good effect. CBD can be awesome for some people, and but also ineffective for others. I do want it to work for me.

Results to my achyness and mental state have so far been, meh!

8 days later.

I have now upped my dose to 2 squirts a day. One in the morning and one in the evening, or two at those times if I forget the previous dose. I haven’t noticed feeling any less pain, but to my family I seem more chipper than usual. (My mum is old, and English, enough that ‘chipper’ is acceptable vernacular.

3 weeks after the initial first squirtage, I decided it was all bunkum and I weren’t doing it no more. 3 days after that, my spouse asked if I had stopped taking it.

“Wow, I responded, how did you know?”

“Oh, you know,’ was his light reply. ‘You’re just a bit….”

6 weeks after taking it.

My dosage is now 2 in the morning, 2 in the evening, and I’m happy to stick at that.

I have nearly completed the first stage of decluttering my home (daughters room is the last, and we’re doing it today)

More importantly, I’ve started writing again. I’m less stressed, more productive, and my brain is firing. I feel witty, and I like it.

There are, of course, downsides. My skin went to shit and is only now settling down, the oil tastes vile, leaves me gassy and I didn’t lose any weight like other people do…which I think is very unfair.

On the whole though, I feel it’s working and I’ve bought another two bottles, so my husband can try it too.

If you’re gonna give it a go…? Best of luck.😘

Let me be clear, this is not a retraction.

I might have come across a little rough about my muvver a couple of days ago, and possibly may have exaggerated a mite about the severity of her affliction…but in my cringing defence, I gave her full editorial control before posting. She not only okay’d it, but also chortled happily at my elaboration…and then shared it on Facebook.

Phew! Now I know how traumatised Rupert Murdoch felt when he had to apologise to Jeremy Corbyn on the front page of The S*n!

While we all contemplate awkwardly whether I’ve just sold out my writing to avoid my first hint of familial confrontation, let’s go the whole controversial hog and talk about weed. (The smoking kind, not the common garden variety…or the ‘you’re a pussy for feeling you have to justify yourself kind.’)

Actually bollocks, we’ll talk about cannabis next time.

The strongest critique I’ve currently received about the hoarding blog has been from my brother, who said it was a bit close in parts, but on the whole he found it funny too.

So, why is my self esteem so low that I’m hung up on defending my actions?

They’re my siblings, and believe me, when I was a kid I never gave two ‘oots about offending them. After an initial spat which probably lasted the whole of five minutes, we’d sit down with a biscuit and watch Neighbours.

This isn’t even about sibling criticism, rivalry, or banter. Compared to others I have an awesome relationship with my brothers and sister.

Like this outstanding blog, the confidence issue is all about ‘moi.’

It has never been my goal to offend, upset or alienate anyone, no malice has ever been intended. And yet, in this digital age, with so many varied users, I don’t think that ambition will ever be fully realised. Like Socrates said to Aristotle, ‘Plato can please some of the people all of the time, he can please all of the people some of the time, but he can’t please all of the people all of the time’…or was it Lydgate who said that? Huh…I’ll look it up and get back to you.

So, do I pack my blog away and say it’s too ‘ard?

Coz I am, at some point in my wittiest prose, gonna fuck someone right off.

Do I go the full narcissistic ‘every word I write is pure gold?’

Orrr…do I give you fair warning that I have little to no filter on my verbal diarrhoea? I will one day offend you, but you might also find diamonds in that there slurry too.

Glue gun

If it has no purpose, bin it.

I was supposed to be doing my house work, but I decided to open my new glue gun instead. In the process of making these foofing awesome garlands that look like they should be fancying up a high falutin’ department store,

my mind flipped whirlingly over the decluttering jobs I’ve just become distracted from.

In the last few weeks, I’ve filled 6 wheelie bins, 4 recycling bins, 4 sacks for charity shop, done 2 dump runs… and my house is still full of shit!

Now, I can hear an army of Make Do And Menders disturb the force with a refraining cry at the crushing waste, and I have to put my hand up and own it.

Dudes, I am sorry.

My mother was, is and always shall be, a hoarder. We’re not talking a jovial eye rolling ‘yes, my mum keeps old stuff too,’ we’re talking about envelopes, plastic food boxes, newspapers. I know that one man’s tat is another man’s treasure, but sometimes, it is just tat!

We’ve recently moved her from a 2 bed flat, to a much smaller 1 bed, and the 10 years build up has been eye watering.

It was one of my most frustrating experiences to date, only eclipsed by the 30 year build up from a 3 bedroom house ten years ago.

Once done, I looked at me own crowded abode. Objet d’ross squeezed into nooks and crannies like my waist in a corset, ready to pop a seam at a mere shiver under the vast pressure. I’m not alone with my home, every one of my siblings struggles with hoarding, and so do our children, we all see value in extraneous junk.

Let’s leave the devastating effect this limitless shit has on the environment, and our utter subservience to corporate gluttony aside. (Others have covered this with far more evidence than this sluttish idler ever could) and focus instead on our mental health.

Stuff – to my mum – is a comfort to her, a big woolly throw of protection she pulls round herself to keep anxiety at bay. When we clear her from the detritus, she likes it initially, but only until she feels raw and exposed. So she starts collecting again.

As an autistic, 71 year old, physically disabled diabetic, she’s not going to change, and provided she stops buying shoes for her one and a half feet, I’m content to let her get on with it.

(I could perhaps convince her to only buy second hand though, that way she’s just playing Tetris with the worlds garbage.)

My own mental health is a more complicated matter. Likely because I’m not beholding it with objective eyes. I know as the clutter is removed I feel a weight lift from me, but I’m not sustaining the removal of said crap.

Perhaps because I keep on getting distracted by my glue gun.