Stalking Stuey


You might remember my last post where I told you about my trip to Iceland, sadly not the county, but the frozen food store in the retail park. Rather than a romantic getaway it turned out to be a shopping trip for Harry Ramsden peas. I know right!? Trust me, that look of confusion on your face, I know it well.

I’m starting to think there is something a little fishy about Stuey, aside from the fact that he works in a chip shop. It turns out I’m not the only girl he’s been giving an extra scoop of chips to, nor am I the only one to get invited on the afore mentioned trip.The rumour is, that Ethel, whose Dad owns the local taxi firm is currently flavour of the month, apparently with the discount he saves on the cab fares Stuey buys her bags of peanut M & M’s, a low blow I thought, considering he knows they are my favourite ffs.

In a bid to find out exactly what was going on I, for some strange reason thought it would be a good idea to disguise myself and do some undercover detective work. There wasn’t a lot of costume choice in my house aside from the usual black bags and mop heads, and pretty much everyone has seen me in those already. So I headed round to my  Granny’s to see what gems her house would hold. Turns out not much there either, but I was able to borrow a 50’s style pinny, some rollers, a head scarf and a pair of broken false teeth. I just didn’t have a clue what I was going to do with them.

The under layers were easy, and then it came time for the pinny. I know you’ll find it hard to believe for a woman of my intelligence, but that thing had me tied up in knots. It was like a bad night at the WW whatever there was that much wrestling.

Next came the rollers which I pinned not so carefully into my hair, covered up with the headscarf. A few carefully placed eyeliner beauty spots,  a lick of garish red lipstick and and I was almost ready to go.

All the running around had left me a little bedraggled and the tights I had on, which were too big anyway, had started to slide down my legs. Turning to look at myself in the mirror I was shocked at my resemblance to Nora Batty, albeit a slightly more fabulous version.

The formidable Nora Batty
The formidable Nora Batty

I’d enlisted the help of Onda for this fact finding mission and when the knock came to the door I opened it, in full costume might I add, apart from the broken false teeth. My alleged best friend immediately burst into fits of laughing proclaiming that I looked just like that woman off……..”Yeah, I know, shut up and lets go” says I.

The chippy was relatively quiet for a Friday night. Onda went on ahead as the two of us eejits entering at the same time would most certainly have been a giveaway. I could hear her gabbling away to anyone that would listen and when she placed her order for a battered sausage, with a wink at Stuey and a dirty laugh I figured it was high time I showed my face. Putting the false teeth in I sauntered into the shop and asked wee Geraldine for a bag of chips in the best Granny voice I could muster.

Stuey looked quite preoccupied what with his furious frying of Onda’s sausage, when she shouts over, asking him if he’s dumped me, as in me me, not Nora Batty me, for Ethel.

Stuey: Dumped is a bit harsh is it not Onda, I only took her up to Iceland ffs, it’s not like I put a ring on her finger.

Onda: Aye well you did kind of lead her on.

Stuey: How on earth do you work that out.

Onda: All that flirting and extra scoops of chips an all.

Stuey: I give you extra scoops of chips too Onda, only you’re usually too busy gabbing to notice.

Onda: Oh..well anyway. So is this a thing between you and yer woman Ethel then?

Stuey: Could be, she not a bad lass, she’s a right cod (the whole shop laughs at his chip shop humour)

Perhaps that’s why I want to feckin batter her I thinks to myself, laughing at my own.

Onda: May’s not going to be happy.

Stuey: Sure she’s never feckin happy anyway running round there with a face like a well skelped arse.

It was at this point I took such a sharp intake of breath that when I exhaled the broken false teeth went flying across the chip shop and landed in the deep fat fryer with lots of hissing and spitting. It was like someone farting at the seaside, as all the fish came flying out. There was a collective showing of disgust from the whole shop, but I didn’t care as my sights were firmly set on Stuey.

Me: Who the feck do you think you are running round here getting on like you’re the peas knees.

Onda: I think you’ll find that’s the bees knees, May you daft twat.

Me: I think Onda you’ll find it’s not, him and his Harry Ramsden fetish.

Stuey: FFS May you’ve broken my deep fat fryer and why are you dressed like Nora………….

Me: Is that all you care about, ffs Stuey, you’ve broken my heart.

A combination of livid and embarrassed I turned to leave the shop with as much dignity as I could muster. In hind sight I should have been looking where I was going and then I would have seen the group of builders who were just coming through the front door, but as I wasn’t, I ended up colliding with them instead.

Builder: What’s the rush Grandma, you got ants in your pants.

Me: No son, but if you’re not careful you’ll have my boot in your bollocks.

Perhaps sensing I was not in the mood to be trifled with they parted and let me through.

Apparently, according to Onda, I am barred from the chip shop for life. Who cares, Stuey was quite clearly taking the peas anyway!


The trip of a lifetime

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Well hello there ya rockets, did you miss me? Do you even remember me? Actually that’s a good question, who am I?

I know it’s been a while and you have to believe me when I tell you that I have been sooooo busy…..busy being ordinary. There has been no time for being fabulous, no time for handbag shopping and I couldn’t tell you the last time I went for a manicure, never mind had a man cure me.

There’s been work, and lots of it. Of course there have been diet coke moments too, Shaun the window cleaner can fair strike a pose when the sun comes out, unfortunately when he takes his shirt off, it scarpers.

The little pods have been a hive of activity, in fact after we’ve warmed up in the morning we can hardly see each other for the smoke from the keyboards. The fingers are flying and so are the fecks when thing don’t go according to plan. During the time of a big contract it’s all hands to the pump until  the tender is in.

Busy days mean quick lunches and the other week while I was at the chippy getting a battered sausage, oo er mrs, I got talking to Stuey the fish fryer. He’s a good lad, although I am a little concerned by the fact that every time he sees me he laughs. He’s been teasing me for a while, I think he likes me because I always get a little flirt and an extra scoop of chips with my fish, either that or he’s trying to fatten me up.

So whilst waiting on my sausage he asks me if I’d like to go on a little trip. I was all a dither, but seeing as I’d been off the radar for so long and the weekend was approaching I figured I had nothing to lose. So I asks him where he’s taking me and he says Iceland. Well feck me, I’m thinking that’s some place for a first date, I’m going to have to wear my big girl pants and get the lend of Onda’s muff. He told me to meet him at the chippy on Friday at 5pm.

The rest of the week passed in a bit of a blur with the pod being a flurry of gossip activity as I told everyone about my impending trip. Come Friday, I headed out of the office, dolled to the nines pulling my little travel case behind me. I got a few appreciative stares for my neon pink from head to toe snow suit, especially as it was 18c outside, but where I was headed I was going to need something to keep me warm, especially if Stuey was not up for the job.

By the time I had negotiated the pedestrian crossing and spoken to a couple of people I know I was only arriving at the chippy at about five fifteen.

Stuey: ‘Feck sake May, I thought you weren’t coming, and don’t you think you’re just a tad over dressed?’

Me: ‘I’m sorry Stuey, are we going to miss our flight?’

Stuey: ‘Miss our flight, what are you on about, we’re going to miss our bus.’

Me: ‘I didn’t even know you can get a bus to Iceland’

Stuey: ‘Oh aye, the Number 37 passes just right outside, and we can get a third off a day return too.’

It was at this point that alarm bells started to go off, no number 37 bus I had been on had ever gone via Iceland ffs, and then it hit me.

Me: ‘We’re not going on a plane are we Stuey?’

Stuey: ‘Eh no, whatever made you think that.’

Me: ‘You said you were taking me to Iceland.’

Stuey: ‘I am, we’re going to the one at the big shopping centre, I need Harry Ramsden peas for the chippy and I thought you could help me carry them back, now hurry up ffs, it closes at 6pm.’

What a twat, I’d forgotten all about the frozen food store the bus passes. It was certainly not the Iceland I had envisaged but at least they do a nice frozen chicken fried rice, so that was tea sorted!

I’m not going to be able to show my face in the chippy for weeks ffs and now Stuey actually has a reason to laugh at me. I’m certainly not the brightest pixie in the forest!



The End of an Era

MayDupp BannerIt’s done. In the blink of an eye, ok perhaps more like a stab of the finger, the Misadventures of May Dupp is no more. It’s actually surprisingly easy to delete a site, frighteningly easy actually, so much so, that I almost erased the Eejits by mistake, but please don’t tell her, oh balls, I just did, didn’t I.

I had a fun little run over there, but not having to pay rent here is going to be so much better, and besides, she’ll be the one who has to do all the housekeeping.

There will however have to be changes around here, and we’ll get to them if herself can put down Red Dead Redemption for five minutes. It’s laughable really, a grown woman getting all gung ho about cowboys and horses, you’d never catch me being so fickle (firemen aside that is).

It was a very quiet weekend, Onda is currently living the life of the jet set in New York for a few days. Apparently she’s been spending a bit of time hanging around the sidewalks, no no, not that kind of hanging around ffs, more like she got a little lost. Knuckles told her to take her muff with her, because the weather outside was indeed frightful in New York. He got a look and reassurance that she takes her muff everywhere with her. I think to be honest there was a little confusion as to what they each meant. For clarification, Knuckles meant:

muff – a tube made of fur or other warm material into which the hands are placed for warmth

Onda however, meant something entirely different that is not suitable for typing, and besides, the Eejit would slap me senseless if I did. She’s a dirty clart is that Onda, but she’s a while good laugh.

Well I had better scoot, I’m supposed to be writing a list of all the things that need done. Next to go apparently is the May Dupp Facebook page, so if you want to keep up to date, you’re more than welcome to like the Eejits one,  for which there is a link in the side bar.

I’m hoping to keep my Twitter, it’s still under negotiation. I bought her chocolate today so I am hoping that got me some brownie points, we shall have to see.

Anyways, it’s good to be home and chat soon!

Home Sweet Home!

MayDupp BannerSo I’m back, from outer…..ok perhaps not outer space, but I am back none the less. The Eeejit it seems is paying the price for writing that I had a severe bout of the male influenza at New year as she herself is now surrounded by snot sodden tissues and sneezing up a storm. Ffs I even had to clean the keyboard before I started to type.

It’s good to be back, even if I do lack a little wardrobe space. The move has allowed me more time for partying, in fact I have tripped the light fantastic up to the Wicky Digit most nights. I tripped a couple of times on the way home too, but that was purely due to one to many shandies.

Life since Christmas and the New Year has been hectic, but slowly things are returning to normal and it’s all about getting myself into a routine. I need to get some ironing done too, but lets work on the routine first, that buys me a little extra time, I hate ironing.

I decided that 2015 was going to be a dating free zone, considering some of the disasters I had last year. That said it’s early days, and there is no sense in ruling out all of the 12 months. They say you never know what’s round the corner, well I know it’s the bus stop, and love or a good oul snog can be found anywhere right!?

Well I better scoot, long day ahead of me tomorrow, I promised the Eejit I would make her some chicken soup, it’s meant to be good for flu. She doesn’t need to know it came out of a tin., so I need to be up early to walk to the shop before she realises. Don’t let on now!

See you all soon :)


S’not the New Year I hoped for!


I know you’ve all been waiting patiently to hear about my great misadventures over the New Year period. You were imagining all sorts I’ll bet, the Wicky Digit full to the rafters, firemen actually getting their kit off and Onda grabbing a sneaky snog off Knuckles as the clock struck midnight while I screamed at the top of my voice…..Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz! Wait what!? Yes you heard right, the only sound to escape my lips was most likely a wee snore or two, because I slept through the whole fecking thing.

It all started on Boxing day, and at first I blamed the Brussel sprouts, the usual cause of trouser trumps of such magnitude, but then I remembered I hadn’t actually had any, so there was clearly something more sinister going on. The Usain Bolt sprints for the bathroom followed a short time later along with that age old dilemma, can you reach the sink, when you’re shitting sitting on the toilet, thankfully in my case, yes, yes you can. Blessed relief.

I made it back to the sofa with only minutes to spare, so close to deaths door was I. Me!? A Drama Queen!? Never!

Onda came to visit me and brought tissues and oranges….Terry’s Chocolate Oranges. I tried to point out that not even a Dyson was going to be able to suck Vitamen C out of that bad boy, but it just wasn’t sinking in.

Me: Onda, I’m not long for this world. I think I’ve got Man Flu.

Onda: S’not.

Me: No seriously I think it is, I’m more sick than a big sick thing schooled at the school of sickness.

Onda: S’not (more high pitched this time).

Me: It feckin is!

Onda: No! Snot, wipe your nose you dirty clart, it’s dripping on the carpet.

There was very little sympathy after that, and according to Onda, who it would appear is a bit of a drama queen herself, what came out my nose was worthy of a scene from the Exorcist. As the saying here goes, the snotters were tripping me.

I’d been so looking forward to the New Year, I had every intention of starting it off with a bang, assuming I was able to lure someone back to my humble abode that is, but all I got was a crick in my neck from sleeping at an awkward angle on the sofa all night. I didn’t even realise it was New Years Day until I heard my next door neighbours in the back garden belting out Horse it into ya Cynthia by Farmer Dan, a sure fire sign that the night before has been a resounding success.

So there you have it, I May Dupp was a New Year failure. Let’s hope for a little more excitement in 2015 eh!


May-ry Christmas!


I thought it only polite that I least stop by and say Merry Christmas to you all. I hope however that you don’t mind if I say it very quietly, I did my own version of Scrooge last night and got visited by some Christmas spirits, only mine came in a bottle and manifested into a shot glass.

Dear goodness, I’ve just looked in the mirror and it’s not a pretty sight. I wonder how poor Onda is, last I saw she was boots up under one of the tables in the Wicky Digit and Knuckles was trying to drag her home by her tights.

It’s been a very entertaining year here at the Misadventures of May Dupp and here’s hoping for more shenanigans in 2015! Thank you all for being a part of it.

If you need me, I’ll be over here on the sofa with these two headache tablets and my good friend Mr Hangover.

Have a lovely Christmas one and all :)

Let’s talk TV!


I have a guilty pleasure…hmm actually I have a few, so let me rephrase that…I have only one guilty pleasure that I feel comfortable about sharing with you..yes, that’s much better, lets carry on. I have a guilty pleasure, for Trash TV. I know you’re going to find that hard to believe, me being so cultured and all, but it’s true. There is nothing like sitting down with a nice cup of rosie lee, fluffy slippers keeping the feet warm, curlers in setting the ‘do’ for tomorrow and some good old trash TV on the Goggle box!

I have a special fondness for Made in Chelsea even though most of the time I am fighting an overwhelming urge to jump into the TV and slap them all senseless. For those of you who have no clue what I am talking about let me simplify it, think an area of London where all the beautiful young people talk with marbles in their mouths and basically date each other, oh and argue, lots and lots of arguing. It’s one of the few programs I watch that can actually make me cringe, but I’m hooked.

A new favourite at the minute is Ching’s Restaurant Redemption where basically Ching, as a chef, walk’s into someone’s ailing restaurant and informs them the food is shit, rips their restaurant to shreds, tells them what to cook and basically saves day. She’s ballsy and to be fair I’d be doing whatever she told me for fear of getting a meat cleaver in the forehead. The main problem with watching this program late at night is the food she cooks always looks amazing and makes me hungry and after a visit to the fridge I have to trundle back to the sofa with a couple of slices of raw carrot inside a slice of bread, my version of a spring roll.

Last, but by no means least is Mystery Diners. I used to love Cheaters, but I can no longer find it on the free channels damn it, so MD has ably filled the void. Restaurant owners bring in a crack team of spy’s who bug their establishment in the hope of catching the tea leaf who has been having it away with the takings, food or other things that are not suitably nailed down. It’s amazing how lucky they are, I mean they always manage to catch the culprit in 30 minutes, the length of the show. Lots of shouting and tears ensue and more often that not the offender is thrown into the street without a second thought despite their pleas on innocence. Eh see that person on camera, well that’s you dickhead, I saw you thieving. Oh it’s great, but it’s also quite amazing to see the lengths some people will go to in order to hoodwink their boss.

What’s your guilty TV pleasure?

A tale of two titties!


Today I had to set off for work a little earlier than usual, and believe me, I am not a morning person. It takes a lot of time to look as presentable as I do. All those magazine types who spout about effortless beauty have clearly never had to do their own hair and make up! As a result, I was later leaving the house than I should have been, no time even for a shot of coffee, which is never a good thing.

After locking my door I turned around to find a man wearing a trench coat and trilby leaning on my fence. Now that’s not something you see everyday, considering we are no longer in the 1940’s. What was more alarming however was the fact that there was a rather large and expensive camera hanging from his neck, sporting a zoom lens.

Man: Good morning Miss. You have Great Tits.

Pardon me

Man: You have Great Tits.

Dude!!!! WTF?? (I have been watching way to many american TV shows)

My hands at this point moved protectively over my girlie bits as I shot him a look that would wither stone.

Man: In your garden. You have Great Tits in your garden.

You have to remember, that at this stage I was still suffering from morning brain. It takes a little while for all the synapses to start firing, even longer when they have not had an injection of caffeine.  So I’m standing there wracking my brains trying to think of the last time I had my baps out in the back garden and there is not one time that I can recall, unless we’re referring to a different kind of bap and there was a burger between them.

Man: Would you mind if I took a picture?

Of my Great Tits? Don’t you think that’s a little cheeky?

Man: Well it is rare to see such amazing specimens.

This is getting a little ridiculous now, I mean who does this man think he is.

Where or how the feck did you see them?

Man: On the table.

The table….you saw my tits on the table, are you off your head. 

Man: Yes, I saw them on the table, the bird table.

You saw my tits on the…wait, what, the…ohhhh….the…bird…table. 

Suddenly as if the sun had come out I was finally able to see where he was pointing, and sure enough it was at the bird table on which two little feathered things were sitting.

Ohhhh, you mean those ti……..birds? Yes take as many pictures as you like. 

Heaving a sigh of relief I finally lowered my hands.

The moral of this story….always leave enough time to have a cup of coffee, unless that is, you want to make a Great Tit of yourself!

Burning ring of fire!


I would love to tell you that my life has been wonderful since the last time I wrote just a little over a week ago. The truth is I have spent it sitting in a rubber ring whilst nursing burnt butt cheeks. Trust me to pick the only killer electric blanket in the whole wide world!

Ok, so perhaps I am being a little too dramatic, but that is after all what I am good at. I thought I misheard my teacher when she said I would pass a degree in Histrionics without even having to study, I couldn’t even remember signing up for it. Regardless, back to my arse.

I never was the kind of girl to read instructions. If my brain was not able to figure it out then the batting of eyelashes was always able to acquire assistance from somewhere. This time however owning to the fact that the offending piece of gadgetry was in my boudoir, I thought it best to let the brain figure it out all on it’s own, and considering the instructions had already been binned, what choice did I have.

You may remember I had set the blanket to activate 30 minutes before I went to bed, which may well have been part of the problem as Onda decided to ring me with about 5 minutes left to spare. Now I love that girl to death, but once you get her Onda phone, it’s pretty damn hard to get her off it again, especially when you’ve had a weekend like she’s just had, but that’s a whole other story. To be fair to her, it was a rather interesting tale and I forgot all about the fact that it was now way past my bedtime.

1 hour and 57 minutes later (not that I was counting), I managed to make it to the bathroom to complete the necessities. Had I realised at the time that it was the last time I would have normal bare (bum) necessities for a least a week, I would have savored the moment. I vaguely remember thinking when I went into my room that my mad cow pyjama’s were nice and toasty, but as I had forgotten all about the electric blanket I didn’t put two and two together. Instead, I checked my alarm was set, collapsed into bed and went out like a light.

Sometime in the middle of the night I dreamt about the firemen from that Wicked Weekend at The Wicky Digit. Before I knew what was happening I could hear the Nelly song ‘It’s getting hot in here…’ playing in the background,  and the fireman was starting to strip. In my sleep I’m thinking, please don’t wake up, but somewhere in my sub conscious, I’m thinking WTF,  it is getting hot in here. I’ve never had a hot flush before, but I’m smart enough to know that it doesn’t normally happen in your backside, so I leapt out of the bed like a scalded cat. Just in time too it would seem, as smoke started to appear from the middle of the bed. I’d like to say I was the one causing all the sparks in the bedroom, but alas no, it was the electric fecking blanket.

Needless to say I dialed ‘999’ and called for the very same firemen I was dreaming about not 5 minutes ago. They arrived not too long after and I led them up the stairs as quickly as I could, thankfully there were still no flames. I could hear giggles behind me, but figured that some of them were remembering the antics from the previous night we had met. Last up the stairs was the big fire Chief, who looked me up and down while walking past and said ‘Holy Cow’. ‘I know’ says I, ‘it’s made a bit of a mess of me bedroom’. He replied that it had indeed, but he was in fact referring to the huge hole that had been burnt in the backside of my pyjama’s exposing my red raw and rather well toasted butt cheeks. Well at least I knew what the giggling had been when we were coming up the stairs. I’m not sure which set of cheeks were reddest at that point.

I sat on a rubber ring stuffed with ice packs for about 5 days after that, and had to drag Billy and Seamus out of the pub to assist with the redecoration of my bedroom. The electric blanket has been relegated to the wheelie bin and from now on I am going to stick to a good old fashioned hot water bottle, I figure it’s the safest option. The firemen were even kind enough to send me a card, that said ‘It’s a BUMmer You’re not well!’

I think I can live without things getting too hot in my bedroom from now on!

Bedroom Antics

Electric Blanket

I always wanted a water bed, although I am not sure why, owing to the fact that I get seasick. I even went as far as to get brochures, and was quite excited at the prospect until one lunchtime Big Bertha told me she used to have one. Naturally I asked if she thought they were a good job, to which she replied ‘it’s all fun and games, till someone gets hurt’. Being nosy concerned I of course asked her what she meant. Blushing a little, she told me about the time her boyfriend was all splayed out on the sheets with a rose between his teeth, and Bertha feeling rather amorous leapt onto the bed with him, catapulting him upwards through the roof tiles. When she told me the only thing that saved him was his Y fronts catching on the fake chandelier I actually fell off the chair laughing. I never thought anymore about a water bed after that.

This winter however I decided I needed to heat things up in my bedroom, sadly not in the way you are thinking, more along the lines of I decided to buy myself an electric blanket. I’m not sold on the idea, let’s call it  intrigued yet dubious. The shop assistant had no sense of humour, as when he informed me my new blanket would keep me toasty warm, he was less than impressed with my reply of, ‘So if I sing and keep turning myself over will that make me a pop tart?”. I’ve decided that when I laugh at my own jokes and no one else does it makes me look more deranged that funny.

Regardless I paid sour bake and brought the blanket home . Sadly, when I dispensed of the box I didn’t realise that the instructions were still inside, and now I have no idea what all these buttons, bells and whistles do, I’m just going to have to wing it and hope that I don’t set fire to my arse.

It’s all set up and my favourite ‘Mad Cow’ pyjamas are underneath the pillow in readiness. The timer is set to activate the blanket about 30 minutes before I go to bed, so it should be nice and cosy by the time I jump in.

I will be sure to let you know how it goes….night night now :)