The Nanny Van (a short story)

Very little goes unnoticed when you're living on a quiet cul-de-sac in the suburbs, and some middle aged and middle class couples have nothing better to do than to keep an eye on all the comings and goings on their quiet little street; people walking, someone mowing the lawn, a parcel being delivered, a car reversing from a driveway, kids playing or being noisy, a dog running free and so on. Nothing much happens in suburbia and little observations help keep the residents occupied and give them something to talk about.

“There's a van pulling up outside number fifty-four.” Harry mentioned to his wife.

“What sort of van?” Maud replied.

“Delivery van I guess.” he said.

“What colour is it?”

“Grey.”

“Does it say anything on the side?” Maud asked.

“I don't know! I can't see from this angle.” Harry impatiently retorted.

“Let's have a look.” Maud said, appearing by his side and peering out of the front bedroom window.

“There's some women getting out.” Harry remarked.

“Nannies... by the looks of them.”

“They look more like prison wardens.” The two women wore smart grey skirt suits, black nylons and sensible shoes. Maud insisted that they were nannies. “Why would they be going to fifty four?” Harry wondered. “Them kids are too old for a nanny.”

Agent Parker

Mother's Wish

Should Our Menial Males Man Up?

The image above has been published in Good Housekeeping, Woman & Home, Marie Claire, OK!, Woman's Weekly, Cosmopolitan and many other periodicals, and it's been causing quite a stir! It's part of the pressure group Extreme Equality's latest campaign and a retort to the pro-separatist stance on what has been dubbed the genderquake. The pressure group's founder and former starlet Charlotte Chapel has repeatedly claimed that the pro-separatist movement are 'relics from the stone age' and 'a bunch of sad little misogynists who need to wake up'. Chapel claims that the latest Extreme Equality campaign highlights the positives and negatives of the genderquake in a simple and succinct manner. “It's designed to promote the debate as much as it's designed to change opinion.” she states. “It's really no big deal when a guy is told to wear a specific uniform, paint his face or shave his legs... it wasn't a problem when the girls had to do it and its not a problem now... and this poster highlights that.”

Facebank

Peter and his sister Laura walk to school one sunny Monday morning. As usual, she has her smart phone in her hands and is texting her friends, probably telling them that she's walking to school and will see them in class shortly. Peter couldn't understand why she sent so many pointless texts. It's almost as if she has to use every last one of them before her monthly allowance expires. They enter the school gates and soon part company, heading to their respective form rooms.

When Peter enters his form room, a good third of his classmates burst out laughing. He's clueless as to what they're laughing at. Maybe he's got shaving foam left on his chin, dried toothpaste around his mouth or is having a really bad hair day. As Peter takes his seat, his classmates start to whisper amongst one another and the giggling and sniggering spreads like wildfire. “What?!” he asks when people give him funny looks and throw sly comments in his direction.

The poor lad is the last to know that he's changed his Facebank profile picture and shared it with everyone... EVERYONE! And by the sound of it, everyone's been sharing it with everyone else. It's morning break when he's finally shown his latest update on Facebank, the new profile picture has been shared 107 times, has 243 likes and a handful comments. The fact that he didn't change his Facebank profile picture is irrelevant, as it's clearly him wearing red lipstick and a blonde wig in the very close and very clear image.

Super Nanny

My Saturday Job

Although working on a market stall each and every Saturday was a bit of a chore, the extra money made it all worth it. Some of my school friends thought I was a 'dag' for having a job, but they were also envious that I had more spending money than they had. They teased me for working on a stall that sold the most horrendous fashions, and on that note, I completely agreed with them. “I only sell them, I don't wear them!”

“Who does wear them?” my friend Jemma asked.

“I dunno.” I shrugged. “Girl's with no sense of style or no choice in what they wear.” I replied. “Thank god my mother doesn't shop there!”

“Same here!” replied Jemma. “Even if my mum did buy me something from your stall... I'd just refuse to wear it.”

I couldn't agree more as I helped put up the stall on Saturday morning. Some of the styles were so horrendous that no one in their right mind would buy them, let alone wear them. We seem to sell to a lot of aunts and grandmothers buying gifts for nieces and granddaughters, so much so I tend to ask if it's a gift whenever I sell to an unaccompanied adult. “Is it for your daughter?” I ask one stern looking lady as she purchases a particularly horrible frock. Normally I follow this with “I'm sure she'll love it.” or “I'm sure she'll look lovely in it.” or something like that, but this particular lady left me completely aghast. “Sorry?” I asked, certain I'd misheard her. “Did you say....?”

Ready for Bed

Mother and I had driven up the M1 to spend the week with my cousins and aunt in Nottinghamshire. Since my mother began petticoating me a few months ago, this was a rare opportunity to spend some time wearing my boy clothes. As the car pulled up outside their house, my mother reminded me to be a good boy, otherwise she'd pull my pants down and spank my bottom in front of everyone.

“Yes mum.” I promised.

Being a petticoated boy, my mother insisted that I’d be wearing my knickers beneath my boy clothes everyday... so if she did pull my pants down in front of everyone, they'd all see my frilly knickers and the cat would be out of the bag.

Jenny's Room: prologue

I never understood my sister... or girls in general. It seemed as long as something was pink, they liked it. Growing up, my toys were trains and tanks, aircraft and spaceships. Action man, Batman, Spiderman, guns and skateboards and remote control cars. My sister however had dolls, a dolls house, and yet more dolls. She had a huge My Little Pony collection and a host of cute teddy bears. Her toys were all the same, all pink with flowers and love hearts whereas mine were all different, interesting and exciting. As we grew older, I stopped playing with toys and began building model kits and playing video games. My sister stopped playing with her dolls and began to spend all her pocket money on clothes, hair accessories, make-up and fashion magazines... but everything was still pink and frilly

Her bedroom made me feel sick, with its pink walls, princess bed and matching curtains. An ornate dressing table littered with lip-sticks and pungent perfume. Her bookshelves are home to the last of her dolls and teddy bears, books about clothes, hair and make-up along with stories of princesses and girls in boarding school having lame adventures. In one corner is a large pink framed mirror which she spends ages in front of, admiring her latest item of clothing or hairstyle. On the floor is a fluffy heart shaped rug... in pink of course. And perched on her chest of drawers is her TV & DVD player... in pink! 

Mother's Day

*I meant to post this in March... sorry it's late.

It was the Friday afternoon art class and as we all filtered in and took our seats, the teacher announced, “Now children I'm sure you're all aware it's Mother's Day on Sunday... so today we're all going to make Mother's Day cards.” A few of the kids put their hands up and said they'd already bought a Mother's Day card, however the teacher responded by saying there's nothing wrong with giving her two cards. On the board she drew an example which we could copy, or choose another idea.

As we sketched, scribbled and stuck yellow crepe paper to our cards, the teacher checked our progress, asking if we were going to do anything special on Mother's Day. Next to me sat Paul Dobson who just shrugged, claiming nothing special would be happening at his house. The teacher suggested maybe he should help her make lunch or something nice like that. Again he shrugged.

“That's very nice Peter.” she said looking at the gluey yellow mess of crepe paper splodged on my card. “Maybe if we add a little...” she suggested, before mending my mess and creating something which resembled the head of a daffodil. “And will you be doing anything special on mother's day?” she asked.

“Erm...” I hastily replied, “Er.... my Granny will come to visit and she always bakes cakes and scones...”

“That sounds nice... and will you be doing anything special for your mother?” she replied.

“Er....” I gulped. “I'll help granny serve the cakes and scones... and maybe help mum make dinner.”

“Well that's very nice of you.” the teacher replied before moving onto the next desk.

What I didn't tell my teacher is that as usual, I’d spend the whole day wearing a pretty dress whilst pretending to be the daughter my mother never had. Each year mum buys me a new dress and each year she makes such a fuss over it. This year's monstrosity has been hanging in my room all week and I'm dreading having to wear it.

The top of the telly...

This has been just a caption for too long...

Proactive Parenting Pamphlet

It appears that the concept of petticoat discipline is finally getting some much needed publicity. This pamphlet was brought to my attention by a concerned parent at my local community centre, who found the advice somewhat disturbing. I however hold quite the opposite view and explained to the 'concerned parent' that petticoating is a far more effective method of discipline than smacking or grounding. The lady seemed rather surprised at my response, so I explained further. 

The Phone Call