I am a grown up. Sometimes I act like it.
You can call me KITCAC. This stands for “Kerr in the Community and Chums”. I’m sure you’ll agree that Kitcac rolls off the tongue more easily than my full title. I know that some of you know my real name. Obviously it might be something like “Kerr”. Well done Columbo!
I work in an office. I have a grown-up job (not that there are many child jobs, other than chimney sweeping and making expensive running shoes but these jobs would require me to either time travel to the days of yore when kids went up chimneys or to emigrate, which is equally as unlikely as the time travelling).
I do not have my own theme tune, but instead I have a montage of songs in my head. None of these songs are available on ITunes.
I am not a domestic goddess or an earth mother. I gave myself food poisoning in my Home Economics GCSE exam. I was off school for three days. I still got an A.
I have a pathological fear of identical twins that are dressed the same. Strangely, this does not include the Proclaimers. I think that this is probably because they often wear checked shirts that are subtly different, thereby negating the “dressed the same” part of my phobia.
I am half Irish, a quarter English and a quarter Dutch.
I don’t speak Dutch but I do have experience in a variety of Dutch weaponry, including the Dutch Hand Grenade, the Dutch Oven and the lesser-known but equally deadly “Dutch Mug” (having been dealt a trump in a cup).
I live in Chorley, Lancashire. You can call it “Mighty Mighty Chorley” but I am not giving you any more of my address because if you are reading this then its highly probable that you are one of those weirdo internet people. Anyway, we call it The House of Hooks.
I have a husband, Stavros. He is not Greek but it is a long story and I will not bore you with it, other than to say that it involved a cougar.
Stavros and I have a son, Child Kerr, also known as J-Wop. He is not currently working as a rapper, but we’re open-minded at this stage about his career choices, so if he raps, he raps.
I have one sister, Deirdre. We are not twins but some people think we are. We often dress the same without discussing it in advance, which is embarrassing. And if we were twins, I would be the bonny one. By “bonny” I mean reasonably alright looking, perhaps with a fresh bloom in one’s cheeks after having stood in a field on a sunny day with the wind blowing through my hair. Not bonny as in fat.
Other people who may feature in this blog are listed alphabetically as follows:
Blue Dog: Our lovely cocker spaniel Blue Dog. Like most dogs, he cannot speak, but if he were able to verbalise his communication we imagine that he would be unable to pronounce the letter L.
Boss: I have a variety of bosses, each of them well-respected and held in high regard, especially by my good self (for the avoidance of doubt).
Burnside: My dear chum Burnside. She has boobs bigger than her own head and a fondness for glitter. We have been friends since we were four years old. Thats a long time, especially as she hates being called Burnside and I would have punched me by now. Burnside is some sort of sample-analysing scientist, but we’ll just go with “shit-sniffer” for ease.
Long Grain Rice: My work colleague whose favourite type of rice out of all of the types of rice is long grain rice. I discovered this on one of our train journeys, during which we often discuss types of rice. We have great sympathy for other users of public transport who witness this level of conversational banality.
Pipe: My dear chum Pipe. She likes vodka and taught me a Polish drinking song which I perform for any Polish person unfortunate enough to cross my path, regardless of whether I am sober or drunk. There are some Polish people who work in our local KFC. They’ve had the misfortune of hearing it.