Chubby McSideboob Joins Fat Club

Chubby McSideboob Joins Fat Club

In a last ditched attempt to shed a few pounds before the summer, I have submitted to joining a well known slimming club that meets every Wednesday in my local church hall. ….I only went because I thought there might be free bread and wine left over from Holy Communion.

If any of you have ever watched ‘Little Britain’ with Marjorie Dawes ‘body shaming’ a load of ‘out of work, lard-arsed Heffers, then this pretty much replicates one of those scenes.

To be fair…most of these (mostly) women obviously don’t get out much, and this is very much the highlight of their week. My husband and I ventured down to the grotty hall, that stank of ‘dust’ and old people and chuckled profusely at the profferings of the great ‘unwashed’ of Hemel Hempstead.

We were met by the group leader (hardly slimmer of the year herself) and taken into the Sunday School room where we sat on tiny children’s chairs.  I think this was a ploy to see who would be the first the break one of the chairs and be branded a fatty….we still hadn’t paid at this point.

We went round and introduced  ourselves, heads in shame, as we declared how many pounds  stones we had to lose to reach our target weight.  Half way through the session an African lady walked in…didnt catch her name, but as soon as she realised that curried goat was off limits…she abruptly left…never to be seen again.

After we had signed up, weighed in and received our welcome packs, we joined the rest of the group, bought a ticket for the raffle…(only to find that the prize was a basket of old battered fruit and veg), and sat down for what can only be described as the most boring/funny hour of my life, We had to sit and listen to everyone’s success stories, or excuses why they hadn’t lost any weight …or put weight on.  I had hoped that it didn’t go on too long, I had a Chinese takeaway on order.

Here are some of the characters we were subject to over the next hour:

The Serial Slimmer

This woman looked like Brigitte Nielson on smack…obviously an avid slimmer, who reached her target weight many years beforehand. Everytime  someone mentioned anything about food, she interjected with phrases like; “Have you tried sprinkling Paprika on it”, and ‘Use Muller light instead of cream”.  Seriously love….fuck off. What are you even doing here?…you are 6ft tall and weigh about a stone….go home and eat!

The one with every excuse

‘Well I only lost half a pound this week, because, well, right, I had an operation on my face, and Im taking steroids, and steroids are known to make you gain weight…and I’m retaining water….and I’m on my period…and ..and …and…Its not my fault..I have an overactive thyroid”.   No love…you have an overactive knife and fork…MOVE ALONG!

The One that can’t be bothered

“So Barbara…how much are you going to commit to losing this week?”

“Im going to stay the same, I just can’t seem to lose any weight, I just can’t do it”.   Eerrm…love you just spent £5 to sit down and say that…what are you even doing here? If you don’t want to lose weight then go home …via McDonalds.

Slimmer of the Week

Oh please….she lost 3 pounds…and she could do with losing another 3 stone…and thats just from her ankles.

The comedian

This guy just wanted to turn everything into a joke….another tortured soul that thinks he should be doing stand-up…..but the joke was on him when he weighed in and put on two pounds…he wasn’t expecting that punchline…but we got the joke.

 

We left the group with details of the website and Facebook group…and if sitting for an hour wasn’t bad enough, the conversation continues on social media…with a plethora of people who were unable to make it…but furnished us with pictures of every meal they had eaten that week.   Brigitte Nielsen (aka Delia Smith), had commented on every one…..’just put a bit of vinegar on it’.

Fuck My Life!

We’ll be back next week….purely for the comedy element.

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37 lessons in 37 years

37 lessons in 37 years

In my 37 (nearly 38) years on planet earth, I have learned some lessons that go some way to explaining the meaning of life.  Here is one for every year….they are very deep and meaningful.

  1. Pigs definitely do fly….and they always end up sitting next to me on the plane.
  2. Always check for toilet paper before your cheeks touch the rim.
  3. Don’t leave loose change where your husband can find it.
  4. Never trust a fart.
  5.  Don’t eat a hot curry the night before a long plane trip
  6. We spend one-seventh of our lives on Mondays, but we don’t need a Facebook reminder that it’s Monday tomorrow…we already know.
  7. If love is blind, then marriage is a real eye-opener.
  8. Thinking about joining a gym is not the same thing as actually joining one.
  9.  Nothing is really worth fighting about…. not when you have a vicious tongue.
  10.  Stop worrying.  Worry does absolutely nothing productive.  The more you worry, the more you reinforce the problem or concern in your brain.
  11.  You will never find anybody who can give you a clear and compelling reason why the clocks go forward/back.
  12.  The most powerful force in the universe is gossip.
  13. There comes a time when you should stop expecting other people to make a big deal about your birthday. That time is: age 10.
  14.  People who want to share their religious and political views with you almost never want you to share yours with them.
  15. If you had to identify, in one word, the reason why the human race has not achieved, and never will achieve, its full potential, that word would be: meetings.
  16.  If I’d conceived a child on my first attempt at sex, that child would be 21 this year
  17. Never play Twister with a full bladder.
  18. Almost anything can be fixed with a Steps song!
  19.  Some people only believe water is for drinking… the dirty smelly bastards.
  20. People with money will sometimes try and tell you what to do, but making daisy-chains costs nothing.
  21. Be very wary of people who use jargon, they are too stupid to use their own words.
  22. There are two types of people: those who work out and those who work.
  23. Hangovers will destroy you, and there is NO cure.
  24. Trust your own taste in music, movies and beer. Even though people will make fun of you for liking Steps… you still know how to ‘stomp’.
  25. ‘Those Crocs really suit you’….said nobody….. EVER!
  26. Build a man a fire and he’ll be warm for an hour. Set a man on fire, and he’ll be warm for the rest of his life.
  27. If you think you are too small to make a difference, try spending the night  with a mosquito.
  28. Before you diagnose yourself with depression or low self esteem, first make sure you are not just surrounded by arseholes.
  29. Accept who you are. Unless you’re a complete twat.
  30. Life is tough; it’s tougher if you’re stupid.
  31.  If someone ever asks you to do something for them, do it really badly so you never have to do it again.
  32. There will be no interesting people in heaven.
  33. Never take a sleeping pill and a laxative on the same night.
  34.  Never lick a steak knife.
  35.  Taking a selfie with your starbucks cup is not cool.
  36.  Never open an email from a Nigerian Prince that wants to give you all his money.
  37. If you post a picture of your beach holiday every 5 minutes, it means you’re not having fun.

 

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Stepdad Hacks

StepdadHAcks

Last weekend I learned some new techniques to achieve a happy household, many of which included bribes, but hey!, they worked so I thought I would share them:

Teenage girls like to hide themselves in their rooms glued to youtube, snapchat and musical.ly,

Problem: How to get them out of their bedrooms and socialising with the world

Solution: Turn the electric off upstairs or threaten them with Grandma!

Personal hygiene is such a chore when you are teenager of a certain age, having a shower is precious time away from Caspar Lee and Conor Maynard.

Problem: How to get them in the Shower

Solution: Tell them they will end up smelling like…..’enter name of smelliest pikey you know’ here, or threaten them with Grandma.

You have just slaved over a homemade Lasagne and even gone to the trouble of picking out all the mushrooms and are met with ‘ I’m not hungry…I’m full up on biscuits’

Problem: How to make them eat their dinner you spent hours cooking

Solution: Hide all the treats and contents of the fridge, threaten them with Grandma.

When you need to go to the town to pick up some ‘juice’ for your e-cigarette, but the kids don’t want to come, and one of them is too young to be left alone!

Problem: How to get them to leave the house and come shopping with you.

Solution: Promise them a Footlong in Subway, or threaten them with Grandma.

When you want children to appreciate that music was so much better when there is a dance routine!

Problem: How to make them watch the Steps Live 2011 tour while you practice your dance moves!

 Solution: Tell them that Zoella likes Steps, or threaten them with Grandma.

When they haven’t brushed their teeth for 2 days because it’s way too much effort!

Problem: How to make them brush their teeth

Solution: Make them watch the Goonies and tell them if they don’t wash their teeth, they’ll look like Sloth … or threaten them with Grandma.

When they have French, Biology and ‘Social Science’ homework but the priority is getting through that ‘Friends’ box-set

Problem: How to make them do their homework…

Solution: Early easter egg for the 1st one to finish, or threaten them with Grandma.

When one bedroom looks like Beirut, and the other one looks like Big-Foot has been looting.

Problem: How to make them tidy their room

Solution: Give them a £5 budget for  the Pound shop, or threaten them with Grandma.

When you sit down to watch Ant and Dec’s Saturday night Takeaway and there are three different devices on full volume, playing youtube clips.

Problem: How to make them sit down a watch TV together

Solution: Change the password to the wifi…..or threaten them with Grandma.

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The Arthritis Diaries of Chubby McSideboob

When I started blogging I was careful not to write purely about a specific niche…I like making people chuckle..is that a niche? laughter?

However it would appear that a ‘topic’ has found me, Im not going to call it a niche, because I’m sick of hearing the word.  Im yet to find another sufferer of Rheumatoid Arthritis who is in their mid to late thirties.. (ok late thirties) ….and male. That said, Im sure there are loads of them and I haven’t been actively looking for any.

Im certain there are Facebook groups or maybe an app  where people find other RA victims and talk about their illness, photographing their deformed joints, so that everyone can see how they are morphing into Frankenstein’s monster, but that’s not really me.

So instead I’ve decided to write a bit of a diary about my experiences…when there is something  to write about…I’ll try not to bore you with mundane everyday happenings that make me sound like Dot Cotton or that poor bariatric lady from ‘GPs behind closed doors” who rocks up every week with a different ailment….

The reason  I have decided to start writing about this, is today is a fairly big step into the world of Rheumatoid Arthritis.. the day I start taking Methotrexate.

The story up till now

I started to feel unwell about 3 weeks before Christmas, with tiredness really taking over my body, and waking up with achy and stiff joints, especially in my hands and feet. As the days passed, this became progressively worse and I really noticed the struggle when cooking Christmas Dinner, and the difficulty that came with lifting the Turkey into the oven  ..which nearly ended up being served in the cat’s bowl when my knees and wrists decided they weren’t playing.

I went to the doctor’s for the 1st time, the day after Boxing Day, this was the 1st time I had visited a Doctor in about 7  years and after a careful examination …(even the cough test…with her cold hands cupped around my manhood), the lovely lady GP referred me to a Rheumatologist.

I decided to take an open referral and make the most of my Private Healthcare…(Im glad I did, as I would probably still be waiting for an appointment now.)  When I got home I called the health company and managed to get a referral to see a Rheumatologist  at a small Private Hospital within the grounds of Mount Vernon the next evening.

To cut a long story short, after number of blood tests and a couple of  consultations, I was diagnosed as having Rheumatoid Arthritis and the doctor started me on an 8 week course of Steroids and Hydroxychloroquine , a disease modifying drug.

In basic terms, Rheumatoid arthritis is an ‘auto immune disease’ whereby your immune system is over-active and starts to attack the fluid in your joints, confusing them with a foreign body. Many people associate the disease with old people, or severe coldness, however the disease is actually genetic, and old people often get osteoarthritis which is when joints crumble due to old age.

The disease -modifying drugs (DMARDS) can take up to 12 weeks to start taking effect, so I am currently in the stage where I am waiting for something to happen, with a nice batch of steroids to take in the meantime to reduce the swelling and stiffness.

This week.

I went back for my 4 weekly check up this week and the the doctor told me that the Rheumatoid Factor in my blood had risen.  The Private Doctor asked me to come and see him the next day in his ‘NHS capacity’ at Watford General. How ironic…the Doctor who is seeing me privately has referred me back to the NHS to see him…(something to do with the insurance not covering long-term care).  So I went back the next day to see the same Doctor so that I could get an NHS prescription for Methotrexate.

I’ve never been a big fan of taking any sort of medication…. I have to be practically screaming in pain before I’ll take a paracetamol. When the Doctor said the words “methotrexate’ everything became a little bit more ‘real’.

Methotrexate is a long term drug that you take weekly. Despite being the most popular and effective treatment for RA, has a large number of side effects, including liver and lung damage, hair loss, frequent nausea and a lowering of the immune system.  “Great”, I thought

Before being given the prescription, I had to have a chest x-ray and liver function tests and I will now need to have a blood test every two weeks to monitor my liver. I also have to carry a ‘methotrexate passport’ around with me and take folic acid once a week (the day after).

The biggest concern I have with the medication is, I do like a glass of wine every now and then, however drinking alcohol with this medication, poses a much higher risk of liver damage and the instructions state..I must stay well within the recommended weekly units of alcohol.

Can I have all these units in one day?….What happens when I want to have a good drink? Do I need to give up alcohol altogether… I have so many ‘important questions.

To make matters worse…when I collected my prescription, the nosey old Doris at the pharmacy (you know the ones that think they are medically trained…but are just cashiers with an NVQ in Tixylix), said to me;

” Are you sure this is the right medication? You do know this is a cancer drug?”

Err yes thank you Doris…I have been to a doctor, I didn’t just get hold of a prescription form and decide I would prescribe myself a drug that will mean I can’t drink and I may lose my hair!

The doctor also suggested losing a bit of weight. This I already knew, but it still hurts when you hear it from someone else. With giving up smoking, I have put on a few pounds and upon last inspection, I am getting ‘side-fat’….god help me.

So today I got up extra-early and ingested my new tablets…stepping into the unknown, and Im off to buy myself a fit-bit in the vain attempt to get more active. Dieting is a whole other  post…and one that I’ll put off for as long as possible.

Do you or  anyone you know, suffer with Rheumatoid Arthritis and taking Methotrexate? How has it affected you? Would love to hear from you.

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Keeping It Real With Kathy Beale

Keeping it Real

Thursday night….a school night..and there I am ‘twatted’, (drunk that is…not a Welsh person’s name).

I haven’t had a drop of alcohol since Christmas Day, partly because the situation hasn’t arisen, and also because I’ve been dosed up on steroids, and the new medication for arthritis (Mincer’s Hip).

So I really needed a good night out and a chance to let my hair down with the husband and a few friends. Feeling like hermits in recent weeks, just the thought of leaving the house gave us the opportunity to have a good pluck of those eyebrows and trim our bushes. The hair on my chest was longer than the hair on my head!

Karaoke at the Rose and Crown…yes I know…true to stereotype, but I do like a good belter and since giving up smoking, Im sounding more and more like Gary Barlow every day..so it would be rude not to get smashed and bang out a few crowd-pleasers to our adoring fans.

Our friend Kerry arrived and we made haste into town without so much as a warm up drink, (we had no mixers). We were shortly joined by Rick, Ross, Katy and her mate…who I’m ashamed to say I was too drunk to catch her name.. I’ll call her…erm.. Lesbian.

You always know when Ross arrives that it’s going to be a messy night, and true to form we downed a few shots along with the obligatory Vodka and Diet Cokes, and started to form our own band. Rick had brought his air guitar, Kerry threw some shapes and we all lip synced for our lives to everyone else songs. The husband and I also had a good go at murdering George Michael. (I realise how terribly insensitive and premature it is to say that….but I meant ‘Don’t let the sun go down on me’)

Half way through the night we were treated to an elongated interval of ‘Play your cards right’. When  the 14th contestant still hadn’t won, it was time to disrupt proceedings by setting off the fire alarm with my super vaping e-cig. The Manager came round with the search committee, looking for the culprit and promptly challenged me on whether I had been vaping directly under the fire alarm.

“Of course not!”, I confirmed …as I peered through the cloud of smoke… like Diane Fossey in “Gorillas in the Mist”

Nevertheless… my plan seemed to work and the air-guitar was go again!  A bit of Girls Aloud, Steps and some 80s nostalgia, that only I seemed to know the words to, because everyone else is like…12 years old.

At the end of the night the music stopped and we were sat pondering which taxi firm to order, that would take us home,via McDonalds,when suddenly our saviour … Kathy Beale arrived to our rescue. Obviously not the real Kathy Beale, but we’ve seen her there a few times and…well..she bloody looks likes her. Kathy said she would take us home via McDonalds in return for an apple pie….you can’t say fairer than that. (Albeit we were a little wary as we knew Kathy had ‘previous’ for ‘looking after men’ in cars)

While Kathy fetched the car from the car -park we sat and observed a pikey couple having a lover’s tiff. I think he’d tried to grab her…this was in Hemel Hempstead…not Appleby Horse Fair.

We honoured our promise of  apple pie for Kathy Beale and also a large meal each, 20 nuggets and mozzarella dippers ..you don’t like to be rude. We sped home, said farewell to Kathy, ate our food and collapsed where we sat.

The next morning, the flashbacks started to come through and we vaguely recalled the Eastenders star taking us home, when the realisation suddenly kicked in. My husband had left his phone in Kathy Beale’s car.  How would we find it? We didn’t know who this lady really was, or where she lived but I was suddenly transported into the 21st century.

Within 30 minutes of realising our loss, and with the help of modern technology…we had found Kathy Beale (real name Sarah…huge disappointment), and the phone was safely returned. The ‘Find my iPhone’ app took us to her house and we instantly recognised her car, we had managed to find her on Facebook via mutual friends and got hold of her phone number.

She came to the door in her best dressing gown with bed- hair like ‘Linda La Hughes’ …all of a sudden she didn’t look like Kathy Beale anymore.

Needless to say we got his phone back and returned home to enjoy our hangovers.

 

 

Source: Indépendant.co.uk

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The Curious Incident…

The curious incidentLast weekend we went to see The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night time… a little Christmas treat from my pal.

The plot was about a young boy with autism who was trying to find the killer of his neighbour’s dog- Wellington, and we were all drawn in to his life story and gripped by his tenacity and  methodical approach to the world. This was a real thought provoking play with sad bits, random shit, and a cute labrador puppy at the end to help take your mind away from the incessant crying.

While I was there though, I was drawn to a number of other curious incidents..

The curious incident of the 70 year old Usherette with Tuberculosis

As I said this was a play that required attention..there were moments of powerful silence where you could hear a pin drop….well…you could if ‘old Sylvia’ from the grand circle could control her whooping cough. Ironically the pensioner who was paid to make sure people were not talking or disrupting anyone’s experience sat dying in the corner….disrupting everyone’s experience.   Oh we did laugh…

The Curious Incident of the Tongue and Grooved Theatre

I have never been to Aylesbury Theatre, and unlike Drury Lane, it offered a much more modern motif  with   a sea of wooden cladding that gave the feeling of being in a scandinavian sauna. Luckily the heat was turned right down…although if we had thrown a bucket of menthol on the coals, then Sylvia may have been able to clear her chest.

The Curious Incident of the overweight gay and the pretty lesbian 

I’ve never met a real one… but a couple of rows in front of us, there was a gay boy with a stomach to his knees and the arse the size of Belgium. Sat next to him was a beautiful petit lesbian (an oxymoron in ordinary circumstances). It’s usually the other way round…but no the bloke was a dog and the dyke was a babe.

We had a great night with good friends and a lovely McDonalds to wash it down on the way home.

 

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Do we really need Courgettes anyway?

Evidently, it has become increasingly difficult to buy courgettes recently in British shops and the country has gone mad!  It makes you wonder why there is a sudden urge to buy courgettes as soon as they are unavailable.

I’ll tell you why….

Despite a courgette being a staple diet to those ‘clean eating ,lesbian, vegetarian book-shop owners, who relish in bringing out their vegetable spiralizer and churning out a plate of mushy green spaghetti, a courgette is also widely used as a sex toy for the working class.  If you don’t believe me..log on to the website….

www.homemade-sex-toys.com

Now with this shocking revelation that you may have to fight over the last courgette in Sainsburys , (something to do with bad weather in Spain), there is a very good chance that our benefit state may need to spend our hard earned money on a shiny new rampant rabbit or even worse….breed more.

Ann Summers has responded by introducing a 20% sale… but even the most  basic ‘clit tickler rocket’ will still set you back £6  ….and that could mean the bedroom tax not being paid again. So the chances are, another Kanye or Mariah will be brought into the world, dragged up on beans on toast and B&H, subsidised by yours truly.

Supermarkets service desks have been flooded with delightful women with their “I’d like to speak to a Manager’ haircuts  demanding that courgettes are brought back…. (we all know why you are so uptight now)

So …Im not a massive courgette fan….but do we really need them? Will the sale of cucumbers rocket now?

Yes….bring back courgettes…..and quick!

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An Official Pardon From Hedgehog Heaven

Harold’s response to Confessions of a Cold-Blooded Hedgehog Murderer

For 9 months now, I have been lapping it up in Hedgehog Heaven….my life on earth cut short by the new occupiers of number 77, who innocently carved me up with their new flymo. I just wanted to let the culprit know that I forgive him, Im in a better place now. After all,  I was a lonely little fellow on earth and now I have loads of hedgehog mates.

It was a very quick end, I didn’t feel a thing, and there were left over biscuits with me in my bag for life,so I didn’t go hungry. When I stepped into the light, I was met by Miss. Tiggywinkle, and fed a feast of worms and snails…not that shite dog food that the Geezer-bird at number 78 kept subjecting me to.

As for the makeshift home that the toilet attendant built for me at number 76…it had a leaky roof, and I had to walk for miles to go to relieve myself, because if you shat on her lawn , she would post notes through the door of my human parents or send her son, the village idiot round to blame it on their cats.

So please don’t feel guilty..as you have sent me to a better place. I am touched that you have remembered me and shared my story across the world. I was just a lonely little hedgehog…but I have seen how far across the world my story travelled in the 7 hours after posting and all the comments it received showing genuine concern for my welfare and all I can say is Thank you….

Oh….and…. Don’t Cry for me Argentina……..

Harold gets global coverage after 7 hours.

             

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Confessions of a Cold-Blooded Hedgehog Murderer

I am a bad person with a dark secret.

Last year I murdered a Hedgehog. Not my proudest moment…nevertheless it’s time to confess. (ooh, Im a poet and I don’t know it).

Arguably It was manslaughter, I mean, I didn’t  plot to massacre the flea-ridden shrew, so I imagine I could have my sentence reduced in the absence of a calculated conspiracy.

It all started when we moved into our new home last May, a lovely leafy area, advancing to a 3 -bedroom house, little garden and it’s very own hedgehog… a real one! How lovely, we thought, with very little consideration placed on the fact that we have 4 cats.. a potential nightmare for “Harold”, we’ll call him.

Harold had brought the community together, and for the last 4 years had been fed and watered by the previous occupiers of our house, coupled with our neighbours on either side. Christine at number 78 had let him into her house on occasion  and fed him pedigree chum, and Lynne at number 76 (the toilet attendant), had crafted a little wooden hutch so he could seek shelter on cold nights.

Harold was loved.

The first two weeks in our new home, we kept the cats inside so that they could get used to their new surroundings before we set them free to roam their new neighbourhood, but before long it was time to let them out. You may think you can see where this is going….but the cats had absolutely nothing to do with the death of Harold. I am completely to blame.

You see, the previous occupiers had let the garden go a little bit and on the  first ‘dry day’ I decided I would cut the grass. A day I will regret forever. The grass was getting on for 8 inches in length (not quite 8 inches….I know exactly what 8 inches looks like).  So out of the garage came the fly-mo.

With the lawn-mower powered up and strimmer at the ready, I began to hack through the thicket with haste, so I could get back to season 4 of ‘Ru-Pauls’s Drag Race.’ I was surprised at what a good job I was doing …with the £39.99 ‘Homebase bargain purchase’, and had lovely straight lines of  ‘crew -cut’ grass.

After I emptied the first load , I continued on the third line of my landscaping master-piece, when all of a sudden I hit a snag. The sound of the blades working harder to cut through the obstacle, combined with a sinister and aggressive juddering of the fly-mo, could only mean one thing.

I daren’t look down and stood silently for -what felt like 5 minutes -calling my husband for moral support as I remained frozen in the assumed position.

Yes….I had mowed down Harold in cold blood. He lay there motionless and a little (a lot) worse for wear as he took his final breath. As I said, Im not proud and I felt a wave of guilt sweep through my body.

“Shit – the neighbours”, shouted my husband. “We’ll have to dispose of the body” he said.

He was right, Harold was the epitome of community spirit….and his body lay cold in the half-hacked grass in full view of each one of our neighbours…What would they say? What would we tell them?

We had to act fast…no time for a ceremonial burial… and we couldn’t draw any more attention to ourselves..there had already been sufficient commotion to generate concern, and my husband was now an accessory.  So Harold’s final resting place was  the wheelie bin of number 80 (we don’t know them), encased in a Tesco Bag for Life.

That was the end of it…or so we thought. Bin day wasn’t for another 6 days…I wouldn’t rest until he  had gone, for fear of his homicide being traced to us at number 77.  That Friday morning I breathed a huge sigh of relief as the Hedgehog hearse arrived to take Harold away…but this still wasn’t the end.

A few nights later, I saw Christine leaning over our fence attempting to summon Harold with a tin of dog-food…this continued night after night for about 2 weeks. When this stopped, Lynne knocked on our door to see if we had seen ‘the hedgehog’…she was worried that she hadn’t seen him for a while.

Karma – I was being punished for my crime, with constant reminders from our neighbours, confirming how much Harold was adored, this only added to my guilt. Of course I had to play dumb…and blame the cats.

“They must have scared him off” , I suggested. Little do they know that within 2 weeks of joining the neighbourhood, I had killed their beloved communal pet.

So …the truth is out.

             

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There is no such thing as American-English…there is English and there are mistakes

Let's dothings together!

I am fully expecting a tirade of commentary for this post and I would just like to assure my American friends now that this is nothing personal and I’m a really nice guy really. However since I started blogging and reading other people’s posts from around the world, I can’t help but notice….even more so, how the English language has been diluted and become a little lazy across the water. I won’t apologise for pointing some of these mistakes out, because I live in England, where the English language was originated……so I can.

My motivation for this post all began, when one of my American readers kindly pointed out to me that I had posted an article tagged with the word ‘humour’.

“I think you mean humor” , they said

” No.. I mean humour, that is the Oxford Dictionary spelling of the word, and that is what I meant” I replied.

“Oh ok…is that British -English? they asked.

“No!…. it is English, there is only one version, There is no such thing as American- English…there is English and there are mistakes” I confirmed.

It didn’t go down very well….I’m a tolerant guy, and ordinarily I would never point out the differences in how American people spell words versus how it should be spelled, but I do draw the line at being corrected into dropping vowels that have existed in the English language for hundreds of years.

So just to clear things up….before you have the bare-faced cheek to correct an Englishman on their own language….here are a few common words and grammatical errors that are used differently (correctly) in England:

For the purpose of clarification and  explanation..I will refer to the ‘mistakes’ as ‘American English’, as much as it pains me to write…it will make it easier to understand and point out the differences.

‘American English’ / Mistaken Spelling English
color, humor, neighbor colour, humour, neighbour
fulfill fulfil
center centre
analyze, authorize analyse, authorise
aging ageing
dialog dialogue
anesthesia, anaesthesia

Differences in the use of Prepositions

There are also a few differences between British and ‘American English’ in the use of prepositions. For example: While the British would play in a team, Americans would play on a team. Another example: While the British would go out at the weekend, Americans would go out on the weekend.

Most annoying Pronunciations

Moscow – This is pronounced Moss. Co, not Moss. Cow

Route (pronounced root, not rowt)

Vitamin (the ‘i’ as in little not as in bite)

Aluminium (Its A.luh.mi.nee.um and not A.looo.me.num)

Differences in Verb usage

Americans use the past tense dreamed while in English you would use dreamt in past tense. The same applies to “learned” and “learnt”. Another example of differing past tense spellings for verbs in American and British English is “forecast”. Americans use forecast while in English you would say forecasted in simple past tense.

Time telling in English vs American English

Both nations have a slightly different structure of telling the time. While in English you would say quarter past ten to denote 10:15, it is not uncommon in America to say quarter after or even a quarter after ten.

Thirty minutes after the hour is commonly called half past in both languages. Americans always write digital times with a colon, thus 6:00, whereas Britons often use a point, 6.00.

Differences in use of tenses

In English the present perfect is used to express an action that has occurred in the recent past that has an effect on the present moment. For example: I’ve misplaced my pen. Can you help me find it?

In ‘American English’, the use of the past tense is also permissible: I misplaced my pen. Can you help me find it?  In English, however, using the past tense in this example would be considered incorrect.

Other differences involving the use of the present perfect in British English and simple past in American English include the words alreadyjust and yet.

English: I’ve just had food. Have you finished your homework ?

American English: I just had food. Have you finished your homework already?

English: I’ve already seen that film.

American English  I already saw that film

The most annoying difference and the one that grates on me the most…as it seems to be migrating to the UK.

“Can I get a Cheeseburger please?”

Of course you can get a cheeseburger….but the correct way of asking for one is

“Please may I have a cheeseburger?”

Here is a non-exhaustive list of other differences – so please, before pointing out any mistakes… check the correct English terminology first….sorry (not sorry).

 English American English/ Mistakes
anti-clockwise counter-clockwise
articulated lorry trailer truck
autumn  fall
barrister attorney
bill (restaurant) check
biscuit cookie
block of flats apartment building
Bonnet (Clothing) Hat
bonnet (car) hood
boot trunk
caravan trailer
car park parking lot
chemist’s shop drugstore, pharmacy
chest of drawers dresser, chest of drawers, bureau
chips fries, French fries
the cinema the movies
clothes peg clothespin
coffin casket
crisps potato chips
crossroads intersection; crossroads (rural)
cupboard cupboard (in kitchen); closet (for clothes etc)
diversion detour
drawing-pin thumbtack
drink-driving drunk driving
driving licence driver’s license
dual carriageway divided highway
dummy (for baby) pacifier
dustbin garbage can, trash can
dustman garbage collector
engine engine, motor
estate agent real estate agent
estate car station wagon
film film, movie
flat apartment, flat, studio
flat tyre flat tire
flyover overpass
gearbox (car) transmission
gear-lever gearshift
Girl Guide Girl Scout
ground floor ground/first floor
handbag handbag, purse, shoulder bag
high street main street
holiday vacation
hood (car) convertible top
jam jam, preserves
jug jug, pitcher
juggernaut 18-wheeler
lift elevator
lorry truck, semi, tractor
mad crazy, insane
main road highway
maize corn
maths math
motorbike motorcycle
motorway freeway, expressway
motorway highway, freeway, expressway, interstate highway, interstate

Sources:

http://www.diffen.com

http://www.englishclub.com

 

 

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