There is nothing we love more here at Jammy Toast than listening to some of our favourite tunes. From time to time we will post a music video from an artist or genre that we think will be enjoyable to you; our friends. We often feature music that you may not have come across before, or music that maybe you just missed the first time around. Try and listen with an open mind, you never know, you may find something you can add to your iPod. If you have any music videos you would like us to feature then drop us a line – we are always happy to listen to requests but we cannot promise to feature everyone’s favourite…
Who could we get to model the all-new Jammy Toast t-shirts but our old friend from Gogglebox, Scarlett Moffatt. We do not watch Celebrity Jungle here at Jammy Toast, all those maggots, spiders, snakes and other creepy crawlies tend to upset the bears and give Razzi nightmares. We also can’t stand Ant and Dec and so seeing as all Scarlett does these days is Jungle or Ant and Dec shows we are pretty much deprived off anything involving Scarlett. Please Scarlett, go back to Gogglebox – we miss you!
Today we are going to ask everyone who visits Jammy Toast to just “Talk Shit” for the day. We ask that anyone who visits Jammy Toast leaves a comment on just about any subject they choose. Funny or sad, true or false, real or fake; we don’t give a shit as long as it is entertaining and doesn’t really hurt anyone. We ask you to do this because we are too busy to think of anything else to post – hopefully everyone will like the freedom to whine and bitch. The rules are pretty simple to explain – basically, anything goes!
We seem to be getting all nostalgic this week here on Jammy Toast, remembering days from my youth spent getting into mischief with my Grandfather. So, today, I thought I would continue in that vein and tell you the story of Auntie Beryl. At the start of the Second World War, my grandparents ran a fishmonger and greengrocery shop in Birkenhead. My Grandfather was also a reserve fireman which meant he was not constricted into the army because his was a reserved occupation. Because my grandfather and grandmother were both at home during the war years they didn’t want their daughter, Beryl, evacuated to Wales as part of operation Pied Piper. This was despite Birkenhead being bombed heavily by the Germans because it was home to Cammell Lairds and other industry contributing towards the war effort.
Ihave told before of my visits to Yorkshire – the land of the early to bed. My first visit was about five/six years ago when I discovered that everyone in Rippon is in bed by 8pm. At least this time we were driving there – which took just over an hour and a half – instead of the nine hours that National Express takes. So everything being equal, it shouldn’t be that bad and today we are going to a place in Bradford rather than Rippon. So Razzi and I set off driving through Liverpool and, of course, everything is normal but the further we venture down the M62 and the closer we get to Bradford, the more it seems like we are driving onto the set of The League of Gentlemen.
Yesterday, I mentioned our shopping trips over to Liverpool with my Grandfather (who I always called, Da) as a child. Well, at the risk of Chimpton accusing me of being obsessed with toilets, it reminded me of another story, I thought I would share with you all. Da and I used to travel over to Liverpool, occasionally in the car or more often we undertook the puff-puff and chuff-chuff run as we used to call it. That meant we got the train down to Woodside and the ferryboat over the Mersey. I cannot recall which of the train or the boat chuffed and which one puffed but that was what we called them back in the day. Ostensibly we travelled over to pick my grandmother up from work but in reality it was so my grandfather could look around the tailor’s shops – as described yesterday.
Both Bimbo and I have told stories on Jammy Toast previously about my Grandfather. We have also told you how we called him “Da” because my mother called him “Dad” and I was too young to pronounce “Dad”. The poor guy was called “Da” for the remainder of his life. I have also told the story of our Saturday afternoons spent eating steak and kidney pudding and chips from the chippy out of the paper – much to my Grandmother’s annoyance – followed by a rum baba and washed down with glasses of “full-fat” Coca-Cola and a good read of the Tiger comic. Bimbo has also told the story of how – for a short time, anyway – we thought Da was a gangster. However, the one thing we have never told you was that he was also a big fat liar. Let me explain…