Posts Tagged ‘leeds’

I did a blog assignment aaaages ago for a printing company in Huddersfield and I just found a bunch of the business cards they sent me.

Obviously I’m some sort of marketing genius so I’ve gone and stuck one up on the business card noticeboard in a café in Leeds to drum up clicks.

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Previously on Fudgecrumpet
“Let’s go shopping”
“Let’s get the chuffachoo to Leeds”
“Dairy Free Chocolate Mousse”
“Pouffe”

And now, the conclusion…

When last we saw our curmudgeonly hero, he had been firmly planted on an uncomfortable seat outside the Next changing room, buried underneath infinite clothing, waiting for the missus to try on whatever nonsense she wants to buy that blatantly isn’t Christmas presents.

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“How does this look on me?” She shouts from one of the cubicles.
“It looks lovely, dear.” You reply, instinctively, having made the mistake of actually thinking about the answer in the past.
“No, really. How does it look? Come and see.”

You pause for a moment, aware that this is probably some kind of trap to destroy you, but seeing no tripwires, landmines or spring-loaded boxing gloves, you venture into the changing room corridor.
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Merry bloody Christmas, folks. Ho ho ho, you hoes.

So, you’ve bought yourself the Radio Times double issue, you’ve got yourself a multipack of capri-sun* pouches that you’re steadfastly refusing to open until the big day, and your Christmas tree is upright for the fourth time since the cat/kids/poor structural engineering of your house knocked it down.

*booze for you non-teetotallers.

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So, I guess it’s Christmas. A few days off work, should be nice and relaxing, watching your playing Candy Crush Soda Saga on the toilet, while hiding from the kids.
Then the missus comes in the room, in her low cut top which means she wants to get her own way.
“We need to go Christmas shopping.” She says.
“You did all the Christmas shopping in November, because you were saying how efficient and awesome you were.” You reply.
“I bought shoes.” She says. “And a cheesecake.”
You mumble all the swear words and kick the cat, who squeals angrily and pulls down the Christmas tree.

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Hi everyone, Meg joins me again for another review, although for obvious reasons, she is a little excitable.

Yes, it’s the Elsa dress from Disney’s Frozen, from www.fancydressqueen.com a lovely blue dress, with a cape and a fancy brooch.

Elsa Dress

I guess without further ado, here’s the review… Well, I say review, it’s edited down from about half an hour of excitable almost-5-year-old, but I guess you can get the general drift of how much she adores the costume. 800/10 indeed. (more…)

Hello. How are you? You look clean.
Well, not for long, as festival season is upon us, like a peregrin falcon with a roll of carpet underlay. Confusing? Yes, but not for long now you have this handy well informed guide to help you out at Galsterbury, Ledes, Reeding and Woodstonk this Summer.

A music festival is basically an inside out radio in the mud, where all the people who live in your wireless and make musical noises come to life on a structure of boxes and metal with lights and that and sing slightly worse than they normally sound while a bunch of students, dirty people and people who have money to waste stand nearby making noises and inhaling drugs and booze.

Each festival tends to have one or two bands that you’ve heard of, accompanied by eighty-five thousand bands you’ve never heard of with names like Ponté Quelimo, David’s Neck and Florence and the Machine. These bands tend to play the sort of music you hear when you accidentally electrocute your ears.

Festivals are a fantastic place to obtain, and use drugs of all kinds. I knew someone once who managed to ‘score’ a whole bottle of Calpol along with a packet of Halls Soothers and a lollipop that was also a whistle. Good times.

It always rains at festivals because the festival-goers’ manic dancing acts as a rain dance. Sometimes it is so muddy, people have to buy wellies and hats. Bad times.

Festivals are notoriously bad for the quality of their toilets. I find that using such horrible facilities can be prevented by doing a big poo and a wee before you go and then not eating or drinking anything and being paranoid that someone will see your bits if you take your trousers off. Of course, this can be disastrous, but I find wrapping the bottom of the trouser legs with duct tape prevents any accidental spillage.

Some people like to use a festival as an opportunity to do some camping. These people are fucking idiots.

And that is my guide to festivals. Feel free to share your experiences with anyone who don’t scream at you to shut the fuck up, as all festival-goers are known to do.