"The good news is I don't Ebola"

"The good news is I don't have Ebola - the bad news is i'm back on the crack" is never a sentence you want to hear from your mum while sat on your driveway of your new house. It had been a stressful week of moving house and crochet Fashion Week commissions. They say divorce and moving house are the most stressful things in life but I know I would have rather had a shotgun wedding and divorce whilst having my house burnt to the ground and my arms torn off with rusty saw rather than hear my mum choke over the words "I've relapsed"

It's been a kooky couple of years to say the least. My dearest mum has been an addict in some form before she even hit puberty. "A full blown smack-head since I was 23" and the chances of her still being alive are slimmer than  winning the Euro millions 6 times in a row. A high functioning "smack-head" for most of it holding down jobs and degrees. I have faint memories of when the functioning ceased and merely existing became the norm.......

Anyway I just found this post in drafts while logging in to this blog for the first time in a over a year. I cant remember what I would have written but it brings back the flooding memories of despair and utter devastation at the news. I remember thinking I would rather you were dead than back on the drugs... So harsh but so true. Anyway I have learnt in life that you never hold your breathe with someone who has got the disease of addiction but it is with my great pleasure we celebrated one year clean and sober for my Mum last week. How great is that. 

Toilet humour.

Some would say there is nothing better than a cup of tea. Perhaps its ice cold pint on a hot summers day. A glistening moustache of ale idly dripping as you outwardly exhale and mop your brow. Perhaps Popping bubble wrap or destroying  Mt Vesuvius and its surrounding villages that lay in and around your T-Zone. For others it's is watching a morbidly obese woman being fed Lard through a Funnel while shes rubbing her belly and winking at the camera ( I hear this is more of a niche one)

I would like to say mine is knitting a hat. This however has been pipped at the post by a good dump. Equally in first place is its predecessor the Bottom burp. Some may know it as the back door breeze, blowing 7.4 on the sphincter scale, an air bagel, a toot, a poof, a pump, a trump, a parp  or simply a one man back door jazz band. Anyway its been a stressful day with the sister and mum so ive locked myself in the toilet and writing about it.

You say potatoe we say fatty spud head.

For quite a few years now on quite a regular basis people have randomly shouted "potatoe" or " I can count to potatoe" at me and milly. we kinda refer to each other as potatoes."ya looking a bit Mash potatoe" whats up spud spud" " I'm tatoed out" " fatty tatoe belly" " tat head" as sisters do coz loads of people shouted it and we never ever understood why. Mainly teenage kids did it and I just kinda thought it was a weird northern thing or some tv catch phrase Keith lemon style. Any way came across a meme today with a downs kid and a potatoe -Turns out its supposed to be quite offensive to people with downsydrome as potatoes have the same amount of chromosomes as potatoes. Who knew ha. Such a weird world Personally me and my spud find it hilarious. 

Lol lol lol lol lol lol lol lol lol lol lol lol lol lol lol lol

The original. The girl pictured below is now grown up and launched a law suit against using her image.

The second probably the most offensive(ly hilarious )

And the final one - a personal favourite of mine.

"Priority seat for pregnant or disabled"

 Londoners really did live up to there reputation as being cold and rude the week I brought milly to London. It's funny, I honestly don't think I have seen a person with downsyndrome in London, maybe they ship em out to the suburbs. Maybe that could be another post.

You would presume most would give up there seat not on the presumption that my sisters rotund belly meant she was heavily pregnant or her weird dress sense made her look like an Infirm pensioner but solely on the fact that she quite obviously has downsyndrome.  I know downsyndrome is not a physical disability as such but  if milly had it her way she would be wheeled round in a diamond encrusted wheelchair being fed Mcfries each hand dipped in ketchup. She really nows how to play up to the disabled card. 

Milly would huff and puff at Joe bloggs, knowing it was her god given right to sit in that seat. To be she is unsteady in her feetand like me is very lazy. Esually I would ask politely if they didn't mind giving up the seat in which case they would look surprised as they had never even noticed us. If I didn't ask quickly enough milly would just sit on someone. Yes just sit on them. That's one way to learn your lesson.

 I remember getting the overground 5 stops from Willesden junction to Kew. Although we had tried to avoid rush hour it was packed. As a social experiment we sat on the floor. Yes on the floor and waited at each stop seeing people get off and others sit in there seats. Sadly no one offered us a seat.

Its sad to say that in a weeklong excursion around London that on all tube journeys made that had no seats available I had to ask every single time if she could sit down. Not once did anyone offer. Maybe they  were scared of offending her because she was just fat and not pregnant. 

Piccadilly Circus

I was just looking for a video on my hard drive of milly. Turns out it was on my old phone that I left in the back of a taxi. I hope the bell end that found it enjoyed a collection a misbehaving downsyndrome girl in London as well as £600 of phone calls to foreign countries. 

Any way the video was a cracker. You'll have to take my word for that. I remember taking her out for dinner at the 5* establishment Pizza Hut. We were walking back to get the tube home from Piccadilly Circus. I don't know about Milly but my gut was busting with unlimited ice cream factory and I was In Rather a foul mood. We take a moment to sit on the steps of the monument at Piccadilly Circus when a a pair of homeless tramps catch millys eye. I sit like a beached whale digesting the great dairy Vesuvius while We watch a performance of a man doing a gravity defying limbo performance to phys "gangnam style"  I scrabble while comatosed for the ingredients to roll a cigarette and In the few briefs seconds I miss the  interaction between my sister and this homeless drug lord. She has a sixth sense of communication with those who are not of right mind and all I can assume/ translate is that in that split second of eye contact they conversed with a little something like ' let's get down to business" 

they break through the 6 people deep crowd all with iPhones and cameras in motion I tot he centre of the performance and break Into what I can only describe as a poor mans Gangnam style. I hate that song and always will. The homeless mans dinner date for the night joins in with some weird attempt at ' booty shaking' and the crowd go wild. I love my sister deep down but I can sincerely say I could have delivered a roundhouse kick to her face at that very moment. Any way the crowd cheer them on and I know - like Lyndsey lohan to cocaine - I had lost my sister to the crowd and there was no going back. ntervenig would have me at her tantruming so I let her dance the song away In some weird off beat dance with her knew best friends. The actual busker didn't know where to look he just stood at the side looking really pissed off. 

Stalin and Tea.

Last month I felt like stalin and his 5 year plan- only a little more successful.

Like Stalin I was brought up in the hands of a poor peasant family in the independant republic of Yorkshire.

After years of struggle and hardship at the hands of ill parents, poor social reform and crippling poverty I was enrolled into the priesthood of Georgian orthodoxy ( an academic degree and a good Christian Girl lifestyle) We came across the readings of Lenin/ Vice magazine/ Leeds nightlife and thus made like bananas, split and embarked upon our own 5 year plans. 

Stalin was an only child. I wonder what would have happened if he had a sibling or ( heaven forbid )a sibling with Down-syndrome. I once was about to sign an 18 month phone contract with the 3 network when my sister lunged out the door for the McDonald's across town. I never signed for it and In retrospect I realise she did me a big favour as I wouldn't wish the 3 network on my worst enemy. If Stalin had a down-syndrome sibling maybe he wouldn't have signed the non aggression pact with Germany. He had to dash as his sibling had got naked in the corridor just as pen was about to hit Paper on the Molotov-Ribbentrop pact. 

Fact of the day 

Losif Vissarionovich Stalin changed his name to Joseph Stalin meaning ' man of steel ' . I changed my name from 'Milly's sister Katherine' to 'KATEBRITTAIN' ( all one word) in the 6 week holidays between primary and high school. It means ' I'm cool'

But seriously I think I might have been a bit of a mad un  without our mill. Our mil- you could say - was the difference between Gold and Steel. God that last line was gushy.   I Could have been a workaholic dictator set on the greater good of me.  Instead I got Milly and now I have a bit more time for the nutter on the  tube that everyone else ignores. She has given me a greater outlook on life and an In depth knowledge of Billy Elliot. That is where me and Stalin differ greatly.

I say this all because last month my sister made me a cup of tea. It didn't break the kettle, it didn't taste like cyanide and to be fair it was a good cup of regular tea. She made this in her own kitchen, with her own mugs in her own house she had moved into the night before. She looked at me like death, like a  slav in the gulag when her carer asked to clear and wash up the mugs. As if to say  "all this hard labour for the greater good of the people,.!?!? What the hell have you taught me  " I realised it was around five years ago I had come from college to find that my sister had broken the kettle again trying to make a cup of tea.  I thought to myself, I have two options set before me ; we can ban her from the kettle indefinitely or I KATEBRITTAIN can make it my goal to teach her how to make a proper cup of tea. Little did I know it was my five year plan.