Well, that got a bit melodramatic didn’t it…?

Apologies dudes.

I’m gonna level with you here and explain, I know I don’t have to, but I feel I should. In a nutshell, I was getting to the bottom of the barrel of my writing vat, I was getting very bloody frustrated, with myself, therefore when I should have been doing productive things, like washing up or feeding the cats, I was on Twitter making cum jokes and other suchlike nonsense, my OH didn’t approve, so then like a child, I was SECRETLY making cum jokes on Twitter, and told some lies, which is totally uncool. Especially when I always go on about how honest I am.

Massive arguments, horrible horrible, me feeling like a prize bastard, him feeling betrayed and like he and Bean are coming second best suddenly to people I’ve never met. A whole day of literally not talking to each other, me feeling so sick with myself I psychically felt ill, him looking at me differently, something new in his eyes which I really couldn’t stand, disappointment and hurt.

Not painting a pretty picture here, am I?

Super Amazing Mum and a few others mentioned that I needed to set boundaries and rules, and honestly, it’s such a fucking simple solution, it never even occurred to me. Thing is, I think the reason I get carried away on Twitter sometimes, is purely because it’s a completely new thing for people to want to speak to me, every day I never speak to more than four or five people, and two of ’em I live with and one of ’em is the lady down the corner shop.

Anyway, that post was a reaction to me feeling like I’d made a really healthy thing, nasty and ugly. I wasn’t attention seeking. I honestly couldn’t see a way to continue this blog, as much as it killed me to write that post. I will be back, bigger and better, maybe, in a few weeks. My OH has got a big appointment coming up about his illness which we need to concentrate on and be prepared for… I hope you’ll all have me back, and forgive me for sounding like a right arsehole.

See you soon my loves, I hope you’re all OK.

If you need me, just drop me an email…

Emotastic Cas x


Right, screw this for a box of frogs. Or… something.

I’ve had enough, I’m putting my fucking freezing cold foot down. Let’s talk about SAD, or if you’re not like, ya know in the loop, Seasonal Affective Disorder, as lovely Wiki describes it…

“Seasonal affective disorder (SAD), also known as winter depression, winter blues, summer depression, summer blues, or seasonal depression, is a mood disorder in which people who have normal mental health throughout most of the year experience depressive symptoms in the winter or summer,[1] spring or autumn year after year.”

Ooh yes, Summer’s over, it’s cold, it’s foggy, it’s wet, everything’s dying and dropping off the trees, and I haven’t even had a chance to buy a new winter coat yet, I’m still rocking my 2 year old parka that gapes open and I have to camouflage with elaborate scarves and necklaces.

SAD. Sad. Sad sad sad. Fuck SAD. SAD can piss off. Here I am going to give you a list of some probably not very helpful stuff, to arm yourself with, so you can go into battle and fight off SAD yourself. Here goes, soldier. *salutes*


Grey. Brown. General lack of greenery. The garden that was exploding with greens and yellows and pinks and motherfricking rainbows a few weeks back is now dead, and cold and wet. WELL. I’m shite at gardening, the longest I’ve kept a plant alive is a few months, and that is now a most likely radioactive basil plant, from all the Baby Bio I’ve fed it. So what we gonna do about it? Well, sod the plants, let ’em get on with dying and regenerating in a few months, I haven’t got the answer on how to genetically modify plants so they never die, I’m a rubbish gardener so what do we do in a crisis?

Accessorise. Those that say you can’t polish a turd, didn’t see the one my cat did when she ate Play Doh with glitter in it. So put up bunting, fairy lights, those fake green topiary balls. Paint colourful, lush meadows on your windows. Get a load of astroturf and silk flowers and makeover your outside space into a Teletubbie Land. Hell, just paint everything in your garden / balcony/ window sill/ roof terrace green. And pink. And blue. And purple. And yellow. Then chuck some sequins and feathers on top for dramatic effect. Better yet, fashion yourself a pair of these bad boys, and hum the MoMo Rainbow Song ALL DAY LONG.



It’s freezing. It’s gonna snow tomorrow. Probably. We’ll all get snowed in, and have to live off chickpeas of dubious origin and ration out stale chocolate digestives in an attempt to keep up morale. Bum’s will have to be wiped with newspapers, old rags and when they run out, rubbish Chick Lit books you’ll never read again. Hey it’s all recycling, ain’t it?

Those pesky energy suppliers are fucking us all, in the bad way, we’re all scared of sticking the heating on. Well fear not, here are some tips on keeping warm.

Fashion together a very charming duvet suit, just stitch some sleeves on and you’re good to go. Or better yet, a hot water bottle suit. You know when Lady Gaga wore that meat dress? Well, imagine instead of it being made with bits of dead stuff and prime rib, just tape loads of hot water bottles to yourself. Fashionable AND snuggly, you can’t lose.

If you’re rubbish at sewing and crafts, stockpile socks, pyjamas, jumpers, rugs, blankets, scarves. Make draft excluders by rolling up a blanket like a Swiss roll and tie the ends with ribbon. Line your curtains with fleece blankets, and just attach ’em with safety pins. Light candles. Wear hats. Rock a hood. Get an electric blanket. Go nuts in a onesie a la that gorgeous Sara of Nothing But Words & Wine.  Run around in the house humming the Benny Hill theme tune to get the body temperature up. Have sex. Whatever.

Also, if you’re not all fancy with an open fire or a log burner, simply buy one of those cheap “Open Fire” DVDs, which magically transform your TV into an open fire of glory, all the cosiness, without all the hassle or safety issues.


This is a biggie that gets to most people. The sun only coming out to shine rather dismally for a few hours and BAM, 4 o’clock it’s dark again. I can’t suggest much about getting the sun to put his hat on when he’s taken it off and gone to bed, BUT, I will suggest this…

Daylight bulbs.

Oh yes. I bloody swear by these beauties. Well, I swear all the time, but these things are good. Where normal lightbulbs are sort of yellow toned, they give off a very dull, dim, yucky (yes, that IS a technical term) light. Well. WELL. Daylight bulbs are white or blue toned, therefore they actually give the effect of sunlight. Geni-arse. Use ’em even in the daytime, to counter the deathly grey seeping in from outside.


This is the big one, ain’t it? Feeling a bit low. Well, taking vitamin D is supposed to help. I can’t say it does. I reckon it’s a load of crap. All I can say on this bit is that for some of us with a somewhat fragile disposition, SAD is a pretty natural thing. Sunlight is important to keep you ticking over in the happy stakes and if it ain’t there, well, it’s all gonna kick off.

So, enjoy those cottage pies, accept you’re gonna put on two stone from those delicious soups with croutons and crusty bread and casseroles with extra dumplings. And the hot chocolates with lashings of squirty cream. Fuck it, that’s what January’s for anyway, right?

Dig out your favourite jumpers, yes even the holey ones, or the ones with cats on. It’s all allowed, it’s all good. Get those pyjama’s out, and enjoy those gorgeous buggers, the louder the better.

Discover a little hobby. Hibernate. Plan what you’ll do next summer. If all else fails, fly off to an exotic country for a few months and come back next year when it’s all blown over. Whatever it is that keeps you sane. And absolutely go and have a chat with your GP if things get too much, that’s what they’re there for, I’m sure they’ll enjoy the break from dealing with yet another bruised arse from slipping on the ice or snow and even more people with common colds.

Hey, there’s always Christmas to look forward to right?



Twenty Five Candles

*sings* I don’t like biiiiiiirthdays…. Tell me why! I don’t like biiiiiiiiiirthdays….

When it comes to birthdays, well, my birthdays, I’m always uncontrollably miserable.

Mm-hmmm. That day full of anticipation and people on Facebook, who you have no idea how you came about being “friends” with, cos you sure as hell don’t bloody know ’em, wishing you many happy returns because they got a reminder notification it’s your birthday.

I can’t help it. If I really think about it, which I like to avoid, I think I have too much stuff in the past that is connected with my birthday, bad stuff, I can’t forget about as much as I’d like it all to just fuck off.

I think about Bean’s three little birthdays, the sheer untethered joy, not only written all over his face but those that love him too. Everything is good. Everything is exciting. The only downside being when he can no longer keep those beautiful eyes of his open to enjoy yet another slice of birthday cake.

For his birthday to be such a magical experience, that he starts talking about what he wants to do for his next one in September, when his birthday is in the middle of June. To be able to remember such tiny intricacies of what we did on his birthday, in perfect detail, in his three-year old mind.

I so wish I had that unconditional love for my birthday as he does, I really sincerely do, and I so hope he never has to look upon his birthday as a scary thing, a thing that will leave him feeling as cold as I do. That no one will ever forget his birthday. That anyone he loves doesn’t fail to send him a card, or give him a phone call and tell him they’re thinking of him. That he never ever experiences such an overwhelming feeling of disappointment or regret.

I know it’s all somewhat macabre, I’m sorry. I think anyone who has ever had depression, recognises “triggers” things that can drag them back down that rabbit hole in an instant, it can be anything, a name, a place, a day, a fucking item on the shelf at the supermarket. Really, bloody anything.

Seems my main one is my birthday. Haha, yes, THANK YOU! As much of a happy mask I put on to not upset my family, I can’t control that sensation of despair. But on a positive note, I will say, I think I’m getting a bit better at this birthday shizzle. Where I no longer care that my sister-in-law forgot my surname again and sent my card late. That my dad didn’t call. And now I simply laugh my tits off when my brother apparently has a lobotomy, fails to remember I hate cooking and buys me a wanky Waitrose voucher.

And the two people I love the most, where there to share it with me, to make me cups of tea and “help” me open my presents, to fuss over whether I was OK and did I want anything, and to just bloody be there with me. Because ultimately that is all that matters, not that some idiot family member forgot. Not the dark, all consuming fear in the pit of your stomach that another year has flown by, and all that has changed is that your favourite pair of jeans are too tight and you’re waiting for those grey hairs and fine lines to come and slap you around the face any day now.

Also, because the people that really matter, buy you fucking amazing shit like this:

Oh HELL fucking yes.

So to round-up, I think I’m just about getting the hang of this celebratory happy birthday shite. Next year birthday, next year, I’m gonna fucking HAVE you. And also, the Waitrose voucher didn’t go to waste, I bought enough salted caramel fudge to give me a massive seizure, in a good way obviously, cheers bruv.

P.S And also thank you so much for all you lovely twitter folk, all your lovely messages made me feel very special indeed, *kisses*

Double Trouble

TWO memes, fucking TWO. TWO. See, you really get your money’s worth with me baby. Oh yes, prepare to be freaking dazzled. Scroll down for boring rules etc etc, who cares, whatever.

Five random facts about me…

  1. I used to live next door to a gay bar. GAY BAR GAY BAR GAY BAR. I would wake up at 4am to the screeching of drag queens punching the almighty shit out of each other in my front garden, or even better, to them shagging by my front door. Mmm hmmm.
  2. I am ever so slighty obsessed with houmous.
  3. At one point I had about 19 piercings…
  4. I don’t eat meat. But not because I’m all moral and good, but cos I just don’t fucking like meat.
  5. When I was a baby, I was a child model.

Spellbinding innit? Well, that ain’t all. No, ladies and gentlemen, there be MORE!


The Yummy Mummy Meme *shudder*

What is the first thing you do when you wake up?

Well, honestly, I usually instigate some form of sexy time with OH that will never be finished before Bean wakes up and practices his jumping and diving off our bed. That or I have a 10 minute stand off with Bean which goes something like this…





*five second pause*



Do you shower daily? Are you an early morning shower or evening bath type?

Wow. Just wow. I AIM to shower daily, but it doesn’t always happen, if not I’ll have a bath before bed.

Do you wear make-up daily?


What’s in your make-up bag?

Really? You wanna go there? I’ll take you there if you wanna fucking go there. Plus, it’s more of a make up sack rather than a cute little pouch. In a nutshell, several mascaras, half a dozen eyeliners (gel, liquid and pencil), eye primer, pore minimizer, concealer, brushes, lip balm, lip stain, two blushes, one powder, eyelash curlers, nail stuff, cream eyeshadows. Yup. Riveting.

When you’re having a slummy mummy day what do you normally wear?

My 4-sizes-too-big-pyjamas. Always.

Nails – how often do you get them done?

Ugh. Never. I do ’em myself.

Your top tip for tired eyes?

Take ’em out and pop some fresh ones in.

Are you a Starbucks or a Costa Coffee kind of girl?

Ooh topical. I was watching the Wright Stuff this morning, I don’t why, I find it oddly compelling, like watching a massive pile up on the motorway. ANYWAY, they were reading out emails about the whole naughty Starbucks people, and one of ’em was “When Starbucks ask what your name is, reply “The Taxman.”” OH HAHAHAHAHAHA. Fucking hell. No. Neither. FFS.

How many children do you have/want & why?

I have the Beanmeister. And also Sloth, who I keep chained up in my cave and feed chocolate to when I remember. I would like a few more, and I shall call my clan of spawn the Goonies and we will go on adventures to find pirate treasure and save the bloody world.

Where is your favourite place to shop for babies/children’s clothes?

Pretty much everything Bean owns is from H&M. Other than some posh fancy Boden crap, which I bought because they just kept sending me £10 vouchers, they must know I’m just amazing. Sloth enjoys wearing pirate hats and Superman t-shirts, I usually get them from charity shops and skips.

Flats or heels? Your everyday shoes are…?
Converse and Vans. I never deviate. I’m 5″10. If I wear heels I look like one of the drag queens who bum fucked each other against my front door. Not good.
And breathe.
Rules rules rules, you’ll never read, I’m doing it anyway.
Please post the rules:
When answering the questions, give as much detail as possible. It’s all about the finer details
people!Leave a comment here (BusyBeeMummyBex blogspot).Tag three or more people and
link to them on your blog.Tweet #yummymummy when sharing on twitter. I was ever so kindly
tagged by Nikki of 13 Miles From Civilisation.
I tag
Five random facts rules:-
  1. Post 5 random facts about yourself
  2. Choose 5 other deserving blogs with less than 200 subscribers to nominate and link their blogs in your post
  3. Tell your nominees you have chosen them for this award by leaving a comment on their blogs – AWARD?! EH?!
  4. Answer the 5 questions the tagger has asked you and ask your own 5 questions to the people you nominate – yeahhhh I ain’t doing that.
I tag the beautiful three above again, OH YEAH I DID BABY, plus Chelsea MS Mummy of Two and Mrs A of Mummy’s on the Wine.
Writer’s note: Just so we’re clear, this is the face I was pulling whilst writing this post. I think it says it all TBH.
 This I call my “Cat Bum Face” pretty effective I find.


I’m gonna level with you here. I’m gonna be fucking honest.

We all know each other pretty well now, yeah? I mean, you know I’m sampled my own breast milk and peed in a bucket now. I feel I owe an honest explanation, we’re mates innit?

I’ve been a bit shit lately on the blog front. My writing’s been shit, my commenting has been shit, I’ve been shit on Twitter, I’ve just been shit quite frankly. The reason is I feel like I’m at a bit of a stalemate with my blog right now. My OH read a few of my blog posts and took them incredibly personally, when they were absolutely not intended in such a way, but of course I can see his point. I hurt him badly, and couldn’t argue my way out of the corner I’d written myself into as everything was clear as day, black and white, published for everyone to see on my blog.

It’s a massive shock to fall back down to earth from discovering this outlet, this complete and utter release, this passion project to realise that it can cause so much pain and anguish. That it can bite you on the arse so to speak, but worst of all it’s using words you have written yourself as a club to beat you around the head with.

I very nearly deleted the bastard thing. I couldn’t un-write what I’d already written, it wasn’t an option to erase them from my OH’s memory with a taser. My usual speciality when things get too much is to run away and pretend it never happened, and this case that would have been the blog being history, as much as it would have crushed me. I love this little piece of me, I really do, I’m extraordinarily proud of it but this has helped me understand that this infinitely tiny part of me on the internet reflects me more than I could ever comprehend. As many parts of me that I do love and find tolerable, there are bits that cause pain and hurt to the people who I love the most.

As I’ve said before, I can’t censor what I write, I find it a somewhat pointless endeavor to spill my guts out in words in this little space I have but go back and bleep out the yucky bits and the naughty words. No one benefits from that, other than possibly squeamish readers or those that find my swearing gratuitous. I’m really cunting sorry, honest. ANYWAY, I don’t see it as an option to abridge what I need to write. I just need to work on reassuring my OH that what is on here, and in my stupid tiny mind, that my depression is absolutely 100% completely utterly not caused by him, and that he is ultimately the only reason why I’m sat on this FUCKING squeaky chair writing this crap now.

So please accept my sincere apologies for being an amazingly uncool blogger for a little while, me and my blog need to go and have some words, probably go out for a nice civilised dinner, drink too much pink wine and end up punching the epic shit out of one another outside the kebab shop to sort out our differences. We’ll be friends again soon I’m sure, we just need to learn to trust each other again.