In which I am exceedingly livid; I fail abjectly to manage to lie in; the moon is completely unreasonable; replacing my walking shoes proves to be ****ing IMPOSSIBLE; jeans shopping is a total cock and clothes sizing is evil; I have an unfortunate altercation in the Next changing rooms; I stupidly enter into a bet with Beth, and live to regret it; I do some really really bad parenting; Jamie hits peak "Jamie"; and the DPD prohibited items list scares the crap out of me.
In which I still have not a bloody clue what day the bins go out; the kittens turn two (and remain complete ****ing liabilities); I have an unwelcome midnight visitor; we celebrate the brilliance of girls in sport; I absolutely mortify my children; we discuss the #stoponlineabuse campaign and why it's really, really important to just not be a dick; I reminisce back to the heady days of #celebrityflaps; Jamie considers his GCSE options (HOW THE **** IS HE THIS OLD?!) and I fail to recognise an oboe; we book our first post-lockdown trip away; I prove why I cannot be trusted with baths; and Beth shares her impassioned views on FAT MILK.
In which I reminisce back to the halcyon days of HELL ON EARTH sleep deprivation; I reveal my greatest - and most ridiculous - phobia; we discuss the Lies We Tell Small Children; I reminisce over sweating out neat gin, poolside; some of my missing body parts are restored; Beth experiences Ketchup-Gate; I wax lyrical on the joys of being a Real Life Superhero; my cat is a dick, again; I experience the night from hell; and Jamie poses the ultimate question.
In which I talk at length on the many and varied reasons why I am categorically Not A Runner; I explain why you really don't want Jamie as a passenger in your car; I share probably the blog's greatest achievement to date; my dad receives a somewhat startling reward for the completion of a half marathon; I discover that it's impossible to run without sounding like a phone sex pest; I share the world's worst hangover cure and muse on whether there's anyone left in the world who hasn't yet tried Couch to 5k; my friend and I terrorise both an AA man and an old lady; my Race For Life experience does not go entirely to plan; I break my parkrun vomiting PB; and I share my most mortifying running moment of all.
In which I eat a shit load of Easter eggs and fail miserably at Easter hunts; I prove why I am not to be trusted in charge of a hacksaw; we discuss whether folding your socks will bring joy to your life; the synchronisation of periods utterly mystifies me; apparently Prince Philip is dead, which you would be unlikely to know about given how silent all news outlets have remained on the subject; we muse upon the ways in which one should absolutely not break the news of the death of a loved one; Jamie and I get very confused over holes in the wall; I revert to being a stroppy teenager; and I get completely livid about the demise of the Terry's Chocolate Orange core. "They weren't like this in the good old days!"
In which I lose yet another ****ing body part; the podcast hits TEN THOUSAND downloads; I relive the sheer and abject joy which was Beth's wedding; we celebrate our wedding anniversary with "The Terrible Jamie", and Beth serves up some bargain champagne; there is a much needed return to normality, and I freeze my own vagina off in the process; I fail to dress appropriately for the circumstances; Jamie mortifies me in public and I reminisce on family walks I have known and loved; and I share my top tips on how to survive Easter with small children in tow.
In which the podcast welcomes its first ever guest...... Mr IKINTST!!! We celebrate our 15th wedding anniversary by recording a podcast together; Jamie proves that he should never be trusted in charge of a Covid test, and gets thoroughly confused about the origins of Dame Judi Dench; we relive the glorious days of Betamax and share our contrasting pre-wedding preparations; my infamous lack of any sense of direction strikes again; it turns out that moving house is more confusing than you'd think; I have a difficult cinema experience; my bath suffers a trauma; and we discuss all of the reasons why babies really need to come with an instruction manual.
In which I reflect on one whole year of a global pandemic; I fail miserably to fold my shopping bags; I confess to having no clue what a sourdough starter is; there is a bit too bloody much whatabouttery; we discuss the lost art of darning socks and the relative merits of hairy toes; once again, my cat is a total dick; and I look forward to my 15th wedding anniversary and share some of my favourite absolute debacles from my wedding day.
In which I reflect upon the awful events surrounding the murder of Sarah Everard, and the outpouring of appalled grief as women everywhere have felt able to share their experiences of sexual harassment and abuse at the hands of men; I get overexcited about going for a walk; everyone goes back to school and I say a massive thank you to teachers; Jamie is a little bit of a ****ing liability; Beth takes a Covid test; there is high drama chez us on Friday night; and I reminisce over a couple of my favourite comedy moments from when the children were small.
In which it is fucking freezing; I panic that I've broken lockdown laws, and propose a "collab" with KSI; part of my body gives up on me; Mr IKINTST and I achieve #couplegoals; in a family personal best, nobody licks the dentist; Jamie fails miserably in his application for the GBBO and startles the Ocado driver; my dad alarms his neighbours; I lose my shit at the Government and experience my own personal version of The Krypton Factor; and I celebrate a new lockdown achievement.
In which we reflect upon a bonkers week; my children are deeply disappointed in the Government's choice of priorities for their roadmap out of lockdown; I brace myself for a return to the school run and the challenge of getting Jamie dressed in anything other than a duvet; my car is in for an unpleasant surprise; and we book a trip to the dentist..... in honour of which I take a trip down memory lane..... and reveal all of the reasons why you never, ever, want to have to take my children to the dentist with you.
In which my cat is an utter dick; I reminisce over McDonalds parties in the 1980s and we go on a Grand Day Out; my tumble dryer is also a dick; my oldest friend brings out a book and it is just WONDERFUL; I go on a walk and sound like a sex pest; Beth plans a funeral; Jamie has a terrifying midnight encounter; and I explain why you might want to avoid our toilets if you're planning on visiting any time soon.
In which lockdown hits hard; I buy a ****ing spiraliser; I also buy a shit load of flour; we discuss how it's really quite horribly tough right now; I reminisce over some of my more random lockdown purchases; poor Jamie has a run in with some nose pore strips; I am a total dick in pursuit of beauty perfection; I contemplate making Christmas dinner in a bikini and share my gravy-making secrets (not a metaphor); Jamie has a hair cut; Mr IKINTST and I have a bonding experience; and I probably won't be submitting my audition tape for The Good Life any time soon.
In which the end of Dry January hits me hard, and I share details of hangovers I have known and loved; reminisce over the most middle class drinking session ever; discuss why Blue Curacao and Cointreau are Very Bad Things; demonstrate the world's worst seduction technique; share the drinking moment from my student days that I still feel deep-seated guilt over now; get absolutely livid with insomnia and the utterly ludicrous process of falling asleep; we find ourselves stuck in Lockdown Groundhog Day; and Beth makes banana bread. Badly.
In which I piss myself laughing at my series of utter DIY **** ups over the years. Including my complete, total and abject failure to mend my dishwasher; the reasons why you shouldn't trust my dad to mend your plumbing (it's clearly a family trait); the worst way to mend a toilet door, ever; the relative merits of Naked Painting; and why Mr IKINTST is unlikely to leave me alone with a pot of paint, ever, ever again.
In which I attempt to get to grips with home learning (and fail utterly ****ing miserably); I convince myself that I am a DIY genius and prove all the reasons why you should never attempt to repair your own dishwasher; my children are left in no doubt as to all the reasons why I never made it as a teacher; we compare the parallels between getting Jamie out of bed on time, and herding cats; I 'fess up to my dirty secret and explain why you really don't want a Playdough License; Beth and I discover there's something even more dickish than fronted adverbials; and I share with you why you should never, ever, consider doing 1,000 squats.
In which we chat about just how ****ing tough things are right now, and about how it really is okay not to be okay; I share the little things recently which have made me smile; I also share the reasons that you should never take Beth to watch any live theatre; Jamie mortifies himself in public; and I share my Top Three Poo Stories Of All Time. Probably not one to listen to while eating your breakfast.
In which I get a new desk; my dishwasher is still a dick; as am I, for even thinking about attempting Dry January; I prove that it's not only Covid that can go viral (see what I did there!); home education nearly breaks me, and no doubt every other parent out there; I have a Grand Day Out... to the Covid test centre; we purchase a virtual reality headset and Jamie makes me laugh until I almost wee as a result; and I discover all of the reasons why I would make a really, really terrible mountaineer.
In which it's that weird period between Christmas and New Year and no one has a ****ing clue what day the bins go out; I wear elasticated waistbands and eat my body weight in carbohydrates; Beth finds out the truth about Father Christmas through nefarious means; Father Christmas has some "feedback" for Jamie; I share my very unpopular view on one particular Christmas film; I give you all the gift of a lie in on Christmas morning; I cook Christmas dinner for the very first time and sweat so much I look like I've pissed myself; we have the least relaxing Fun Family Walk ever; and my social calendar frankly peaks... with a trip to the dump.
In which I reflect on just what an absolute sh*tshow of a year 2020 has turned out to be; I contemplate writing Covid: The Musical; I fail absolutely miserably to wrap any of the presents I promised myself I was going to make a start on two weeks ago (I LIED!); and there is a general reminder to, right now, please, all of us... be kind to, and look after ourselves. Because 2020 really is a bit of a dick.
Stay up to date
For any inquiries, please email us at hello@podcastworld.io
