The ramblings of Mrs. Hoolihan

My rants on life and everything in between. Desperately trying to remind myself that it's just not worth the jail time.



If I could have a word with my younger self…

I’ve been thinking about the past a lot recently (don’t worry I’m not suicidal as it does seem a little depressing having just re-read that).

I’m often told not to live in the past, but the present, but what people fail to understand is that my past and those that’re are a part of it, have shaped the present Jenny that you see today.

Today I am 36. I’m married (to an amazing chap who I thank God for every single day for sending to me) and Mummy to Harry – the light of my world and my heart.  I am what you call ‘privileged’ to have  been graced with these angels and I live a very happy and content life.

So recently I was thinking about my life and all the amazing people they’ve influenced me and it got me thinking about about all the things that as young girl I wanted to do. Working hard has enabled me to do a lot of things that I’ve always hankered after doing; I’m a grafter and I don’t believe anything should come for free, never assume you’re entitled to anything, work for it and work hard and you’ll reap the rewards. So I’m lucky (or I worked hard and gained the reward it I guess i could say).

Anyway, I’m going off on a tangent here, I was thinking about what I’d say to my younger self, if I could change things and here goes.

  1. The Spice Girls could totally pull of leopard print; Jenny your 16 year old being can’t. Ditch the leopard print girl, you’re never going to be Posh Spice.
  2. Say ‘fuck off’ way more.
  3. Say ‘no’ way more. Bollocks to being polite and trying to hold your tongue – just say no.
  4. Don’t do the degree you did because you think you’ll upset your Dad – upset him; he’ll get over it.
  5. Ask your Grandparents and Great Grandparents stuff. You only know them as ‘old’ or as ‘Nanny’ – what lives did they live before they became the person you saw them as.
  6. Dye that blonde hair; stop letting a hair colour dictate to you.
  7. Listen to the voice inside your head (I know some of you think I’m mental, I’m not trust me).
  8. Don’t date those knob ends (not all were knobs, but a good few were). Listen to your Dad when he says they’re a knob – they’re a knob.
  9. Drink more and don’t worry about your mouth running off on one after you’ve drank, afterall you’re just telling the truth.
  10. Move abroad – don’t be frightened about the ‘what ifs,’ you can always come home if you don’t like it.
  11. Be direct from a younger age; it hasn’t hindered you has it?
  12. Question everything. Nothing gained from acceptance.
  13. Step away from the blue eye shadow, you’re not in Abba Jenny.
  14. Maintain those friendships at all costs.
  15. Be proud, not arrogant – remember Jenny, there’s a fine line and you overstep it on occasion.
  16. Smile, don’t scowl so much. Your 36 year old self is cursing you for frowning so much and she’s not thankful for the prominent lines occurring as a result.
  17. Say thank you. A lot. It’s nice to be nice and appreciative.
  18. Don’t worry about being subtle as a brick. Embrace it.
  19. Don’t censor yourself.
  20. Let shit go. It’ll help you in the long run. Your 36 year old self is hating that all these later, you still harbour ill thoughts on what happened when you were 17.
  21. Give less fucks.
  22. Hug. Learn to make human contact from an earlier age – don’t be so stand offish.
  23. When someone tells you you’re intimidating, laugh at them – it’s their insecurity, not yours – refrain from excusing their behaviour like you do
  24. Find inner peace. Jenny that doesn’t mean get off your face on drugs, you’re too sensible for that, I mean, learn to be calmer quicker after you’ve been on one – trust me, it’ll help when you’re older.
  25. Remember to leave a little sparkle wherever you go; you’ll be a long time dead and you want to be rembered for being human in some capacity.


Why I blog.

Recently I was asked a really interesting question and one I was a little unprepared for.

“Why do you blog?” Bravo, good question.

I write because it’s carthatic.

I write because I love to rant and I write because I don’t give two fucks what anyone thinks.

Writing is a good way to empty one’s mind of all the shit we load into it each day. I was literally getting to a point where I thought it’d explode, so I started to dump a lot of it down into words – to get it off my chest or to simply reminisce.

I was telling someone about it and they suggested that I publish my ramblings, so I did.

I’m not looking for appreciation nor approval, I’m way too long in the tooth to a give a flying fuck about whether anyone is critical over my ramblings; for that’s exactly what they are.

Critique away if you like – a thumbs up is always a sign that I’ve made someone laugh with my innate bullshit ramblings and well, if you’re still reading this and critiquing me, then bitch, that just made you a fan.

Lovers will love, the haters will hate and I’ll still be here, spilling my mind.

Read and smile or read and mock – i couldn’t give a toss as the only opinion that’s really valid is my own!


The ‘Thunderbolt’ moment.

I’ve not really ever encountered many ‘thunderbolt’ moments in my life, but recently I had one and it hit me hard. Very hard.

Sadly I’ve come to the realisation, that the old clique of ‘A leopard never changes its spots’ is not only true, but absolutely and absurdly spot on too.

If someone doesn’t behave how you’d like them behave, then sadly, don’t waste your energy or time in trying to change them. There’s only you that will end up with a headache and a heavy heart.

I’m rather judgmental of people; I make my mind up immediately whether you’re an arsehole or not – it’s quite easy really – you’re either nice or you’re not. I’m usually right about people, but on this occasion, for once, I concede I was wrong and I’m fine that I was wrong – my pride doesn’t get in the way one bit, I’m human after-all and humans make mistakes.

The person / people in question aren’t arseholes as such before you go judging me; they are in fact,  good and decent human beings, they just lack thought and appreciation. I just thought that circumstance would change them but it hasn’t and I’m sad for them. Sad for them and sad for me. And sad for what could have been.

There’s only so much you can try before you throw the towel in and declare you can’t be arsed, but for me, there’s only this option – a leopard doesn’t change its spots. No amount of good will and positive thinking will change this, no amount of silent yelling in your head at that person and no amount of regret in your heart can either. So save yourself the headache and heartache and walk away.

So that’s what I’m doing. I’m walking away with my self respect and dignity in tact and I’ve learnt my lesson – no second, third, fourth or fifth chances; we’re done and I won’t ever make the same mistake again – in a parallel universe somewhere, all is calm, all is serene and everyone is happy…..


Are people born wankers?

Are people born wankers? Or is it a case of circumstance?

This very thought has been running around my head for some time now and I always seem to be drawn back to the one same conclusion; it’s a DNA defect and therefore, they’re born a wanker.

Wankers come in all sorts of shapes and sizes and at first encounters, they may not always exhibit wanker-like behaviour, although it always comes to light at some point and the big reveal that they’re a wanker, never comes as a surprise.

I know people who I deem to be wankers. Yes that’s a social taboo saying it about people you know, but I’ve said it, I mean it and I won’t take it back. I’m just brutally honest and well, frankly I’m past giving a proverbial shit on what anyone else has to say. At 35, having enough life experience under my belt, in my opinion, affords to be as honest as I want to be and well, if you don’t like it, don’t read my blog and huff and puff at the spillings of my mind.

I’ve just witnessed wankerish behaviour first hand and this is what’s driven me to rant and moan about wankers. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, it’s not that I don’t really like people, I do. I just can’t see past their wankerish qualities and thinly veiled shit at times when it’s almost knocking me out and is all up in my grill.

So, what makes a wanker then?

It’s simple; you’re either a wanker or your not. I guess you can’t help being a wanker if it is indeed a genetic defect, but what you can do is lessen your wankerish behaviour. But then it leads to another question which is;

“Does one know that they’re a wanker? Or does one live in wankerish bliss?”

Quite frankly, I’m at an age where I don’t care. I can now see straight through people, I can glide through that bullshit like a knife through microwaved butter and I see people for the straight up mother fucking wankers that they are.

Word up. If you’re reading this and you’re a wanker, be less wankerish.

Better still, take a long hard look at yourself, your pathetic little existence and ask yourself one question; why be a wanker?

Everyone thought it. I just said it.

I’ve got into immense trouble over the years for saying what’s on my mind.

My comeback is always the same, “Everyone thought it, I just said it.” Which, if everyone is true to themselves, would agree whole heartedly on.

The thing I’ve learnt over the years is that, it’s ok for others to say what they like, but the minute I do, I’m cast as the uber bitch, Alexis Carrington eat your heart out. But you thought it, I always think, so what’s the big deal?

I think it’s often, not what I say, but how I say it that winds people up. I don’t go out of my way to upset people, far from it, but I will say I won’t put up with bullshit, from anyone. I think I could sniff bullshit from the moon if I was ever cast up there; it’s just so obvious and I can’t sit there nodding away like those little Churchill dogs in agreement.

My best friend Emma is exactly the same. They say if your friendship lasts longer than 7 years, you’ll be friends for life. I’ve known Emma since I was 11 so we’re basically soulmates. Anyway what makes our friendship work is our ability to sniff bullshit out. Now as adults, we’ve near on perfectionists at sniffing BS out.

At nearly 35, I’m done with appeasing people; if you piss me off, damn right I’ll tell you. A bit like the lions at the zoo, may be I should come with a warning “Keep away – says it how it is”.  Food for thought I guess.

Intolerance to people.

I’ve said many a time that I’m not a ‘people person.’ I’m not particularly arsed that I’m not patient or intolerant of people; I am who I am and I make fuck all apologies for it.

As I grow older, I’ve developed such an aversion to bullshit that my eyes are rolling in my head before my mouth actually engages. I can sense bullshit from a hundred metres, sometimes I don’t even have to hear it; simply observing behaviour without words being spoken aloud is enough to make me chunder in my own mouth at the utter shite that some people spew.

It’s not just BS that gets on my nerves, it’s people who don’t possess a moral compass that grate my gears too. Like greedy people. They wind me up to high heaven. Your come-up-ance will arrive one day sunshine, is what I always think. Those horrid little fuckers who trample all over other people’s feelings wind me up – just who the hell do you think you are? Dragging your negativity and shit into somene else’s life…. just how low can you stoop?

I used to use public transport all the time to commute to and from work. If you’re not a people fan, then public transport isn’t for you (nor is customer facing jobs but that’s another story in itself). Selfish, rude and incredibly irgnorant people frequent these modes of transport I’m sorry to say. Once I sat on a 6.45am train that stopped at Bradford (shithole central as I like to think of it as). So I’m sat minding my own business, working away on the train, when some absolute moron comes and sits next to me (the train was empty I have to note), smashing a cornish pasty into his face. Now I’m not adverse to a pasty myself, but at 6.45am? No fucking thank you. So I told him to fuck off in no uncertain terms with his pasty and sit down the other end of the carriage.

My point is, is that people are often rude and ignorant, without even being aware of it. It’s like poison, it eats away at them and consumes them.


Mate, I’ve bigger balls than you. Dickhead.

I’ve said it before, I don’t class myself as a ‘Feminist’ in the true sense of the word, rather, I seek equality for the sexes (I dunno what you call that, but that’s my crusade).

However, there’s a kind of a caveat to that; when a bloke puffs his chest out, re-arranges his balls (small though they are I noted), I’m inclined to yell “Mate, I’ve bigger balls than yours. Dickhead.” Seriously, what’s the deal? Are you asserting the neanderthal in you? Are you showing me your dick? What? What’re you doing? I’m happily married thanks and don’t need a ‘hit on,’ if that’s what it is. Really dickhead, if you wanna go down that route, I’ve bigger (metaphorical) balls than you mate and don’t feel the need to assert my equal ‘womanliness’.

All I can think (seriously), is that you’re threatened by me. So you try to intimidate me. Uh er dickhead, you messed with the wrong vagina wearing gal here dude. I’m not intimidated, I’m humoured! Humoured that you think that by rearranging your cock and ball sack, I’m going to be put somewhat out in my place – seriously dude, I’m wetting myself.

I hope your Mother’s pleased with how you’ve turned out, cos if you were my son, I’d be kicking you to timbuckbloodytoo and back, you rude, fucktard, cock womble, ball grabbing, probably have a small penis, dick face. How dare you think you can intimidate another human being with your sex? Arrogance that’s what you are personified.

Mate you’re a tosser is what you are. And I’m stood here, laughing my head off at your ignorance, arrogance and sheer stupidity and I’m not alone, along with my female and male compatriots.

Female, male or somewhere in-between, (I don’t care what you label yourself as frankly), you ain’t bullying this gal. So like I say, I’ll continue to wet myself laughing at you and remind myself of the cockwomble that you are.

Not giving give a fuck.

I can’t remember the last time that I truly gave a fuck. I wish I could, but I can’t recall it.

Sometimes I wonder if I have ever given a fuck, or if I’m truly emotionless, in every sense of the word.

I’ve sailed through life never seeking anyone’s approval; my own is sufficient, for if I can’t trust my own judgement, how can I trust anyone else’s? Rhetorical question that I don’t seek an answer on to be honest.

Some people spend their whole life seeking the approval of others, why? I sometimes, fleetingly for a moment, wish I gave more of a fuck, but as much as I try to, I simply don’t.

I’m like Marmite; you either love me or you don’t. And that’s how I approach people in my life too. I either love you or I don’t give two flying fucks about you.

You hate me? Water off a duck’s back – it may hurt those around me, but me? I couldn’t give a fuck. My skin is as thick as a rhinos; I know I should feel some type of emotion, but I just don’t.

You don’t like what I say? Your problem, not mine. I’m as real as they come; so what I may dye my hair, shove every cream on my face to hold back the years and plaster myself in makeup, but underneath all that, when you strip back the layers, what you see is what you get.

Someone recently remarked that I must give a shit sometimes. No is the answer; you see it’s not my fault that someone doesn’t like me, the problem isn’t me, it’s them or you if you’re reading this and hating on me. You see I see you as reading this as a fan, so if you’re reading and hating, then what does that make you? Anyway, my point is that if you’re reading and hating, then it’s not my problem; it’s yours – go figure out why you’re hating on me but still reading.

I’m not a Philosopher, Counsellor or Psychiatrist so I can’t pretend to understand when I just don’t give a fuck. The only thing I do give a fuck over, is when someone close to me takes something to heart, but me? Nah, life’s too short to mull shit over from the mud slingers. Trust your own judgement.  I always have and only on a very few occasions have I been wrong in my 35 years.

I saw something last night that made me laugh out loud on Instagram so much that I nearly wet myself laughing as it’s so apt.

“You can be the ripest, juiciest peace in the world, and there’s still going to be somebody who hates peaches.”

How goddamn true is that? I say fuck em.  Don’t be a people pleaser. Don’t lick that arse. Just be you and if they don’t like you, then that’s there issue. There’s usually reason for it, jealousy is the number one factor – pathetic but again, their problem, not yours.

So on that note, lovers and haters, I’m off to enjoy the rest of what’s left of my day and hyep you guessed it, I’ll not be giving a flying fuck!


Be a human first.

Always an avid people watcher, I can’t help but analyse the words, actions and behaviour of the human race (sometimes I lament way too much some would say, but that’s another story, for another day).

Watching how people react in particular scenarios amazes me. Sometimes I almost want to pat myself on the back, for I could have foretold the outcome before it even began to unfold. At other times I’m dumbfounded; literally blown from under my feet, I often can’t believe what I’ve witnessed.

Now as you’re probably sick of hearing me say, I’m not really a people’s person. I’m not particularly empathetic nor am I tolerant, but observing people is a hobby. In the 20 odd years that I’ve been people watching (or at least aware of my doing it, for I’ve probably done it since I was a small girl), one re-curring theme that propels itself forward, is the need for humans to label one another.

“You’re a knob”, “You’re a bloody Feminist”, “You’re a narcissist”, “You’re a woman, what would you know?” “Pah. Men are complete morons”, “You’re Catholic, of course you’d think that”, “You’re 21, grow up first”.

Why do we, as humans feel the need to label one another? Is it a reflex, protective primeval instinct? Why can’t we just treat each other with basic respect – be a human first? Before labelling one another, let’s just try and be basic humans first and foremost.

What does being a human encompass?

Well for me it’s treating another homo sapien as you would like to be treated yourself.

Being kind (something that perhaps I need to work on myself), respectful to others views and opinions (you can still air your own, but in a tolerant manner and one that does not hurt or harm another), and empathetic towards others feelings (again I need to work on this, as admittedly sometimes I’ve the tact of a gnat on a hot evening when you’ve slathered your lips in lipgloss) are what I think are the basics. Of course there’s a ton more and of course, the human nature would perhaps wish to sit and argue the toss over what’s deemed the most important…

Just why is it so hard to exhibit the above and just embrace one another? It’s a rhetorical question that no doubt has been asked for thousands of years and will continue to be asked until the end of time.

I’m not saying don’t label, all I’m saying is be a human first. Refrain from apportioning blame, shamelessly calling people out, slinging accusations around on ones’ personality traits – stop it. Stop it and be a human first.

Think the next time you wish to first label. How would you wish to be treated?

Be. A. Human. First.





Create a free website or blog at

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: