About Room 101

She says, by @mammapolitico

Room 101 Meme

Doesn’t everyone wish that they had their own personal Room 101?

Not a version of Room 101 from George Orwell’s novel 1984 which contained the horror that is your own deepest darkest fear, but somewhere you could shove the stuff that is driving you insane.

When @adadcalledspen and I were tagged in @OneDad3Girls Room 101 Meme, a list a mile long soon came to mind. You be relieved to hear I’ve managed to narrow things down.

So into my Room 101 would go:

Toy Dispensers at the Supermarket

You know those wretched machines? The ones carefully situated at the end of the tills at the supermarket.The ones which cause your little kids (or maybe your bigger kids!) to chant “Can I have a £ – it’s just a £ !!” whilst you are trying to shove tins of beans, toilet rolls and dried spaghetti into carrier bags. I admit I cave in once in a while. In goes the £. Out comes a hard plastic ball with some useless plastic toy inside it. All the way back home the chant changes to “Mum can you OPEN IT !!”

Have you ever tried to open one of those damn plastic balls. Some of them have a lovely fastener with a hinge. Open swiftly,out comes useless plastic toy – happy child – job done. The other type are the ones sent direct from hell. I cannot open them!! I have attacked them with a screwdriver in desperation. I have sawed at them with scissors and chopped at them with a sharp knife. How I have not ended up in casualty or given myself a hernia I do not know. The end result – child very impressed with my ball destroying skills. Toy mini hairbrush or whatever was inside amuses for five minutes and is tossed aside.

Yep – those horrible plastic balls from toy dispenser machines go straight in to my Room 101.

Sorry for your wait – would you like a hand with your packing?

Was going to call this one supermarket checkout people but that would be unfairly chucking all supermarket checkout people in to the same shopping basket.

What I am unceremoniously heaving in to Room 101 are those supermarket checkout people who say in the most insincere of voices “Sorry for your wait – would you like a hand with your packing?” A very kind offer I always politely refuse. I hate other people packing my shopping for me. When you get those kids fundraising for their football team or whatever, who pack your shopping in return for spare change I grit my teeth and think – don’t put the crisps under the tins, frozen food in the same bag !!!

The reason insincere “Can I help but I’m only asking because I have been told to say it’ checkout people are going in to my Room 101 is because after I refuse – they THROW my shopping at me. It comes down the conveyor belt thingy so fast I feel a panic attack coming on. It’s like they are challenging me :

Right then!

You didn’t want any help – lets see how fast YOU can pack !

Eyes meet eyes as the money is handed over assessing who won.

I’ve learned to pick my till lane carefully.


Bit off a subconscious theme developed here I’m realising – and yes Supermarkets – the whole bloody lot of them would go into my Room 101. They have killed the high street. A supermarket is a like a drug you need, you use because it’s all around you, but would love to give up. I spend too many hours trailing round the same supermarkets buying the same products – walking the same route like a hamster on a wheel. Lets get rid of the lot.


He says, by @ADadCalledSpen

Room 101.

Tricky. What would I put in Room 101?

Rob Brydon: He’s smug.

Aniseed: Liqourish and all that nasty shite that tastes like that. Apparently a dislike of something on one’s taste receptors is born out of the fact that you have too many. Too many things saying yes means you say no. I was told this by someone who named all the genes for that based on form and function. So. Aniseed can do one on a fucking scientific level too.

Boom! I’m on a roll.

[insert name here] Vile, cruel, bitter, ugly people who make someone I care about feel depressed, feel worthless, and try to take a beauty from them which, in my eyes, is unforgivable. Actually, please put in all people who abuse others in any way. Thankingtons.

My Heart: It beats, it allows me to function but it’s not really working. I can feel this. It’s a bit like a clock that’s been overwound and either gains or loses time. So it’s there, but it’s not really working properly.
Yet I can feel it, at times, in the middle of the night, beating hard and fiercely. Like it’s trying to leap from my chest. Like it’s saying ‘LET ME OUT. I’VE HAD ENOUGH OF BEING IN HERE.’
Like it’s saying ‘I’ve had enough of you. All you do. All you’ve experienced and the words you’ve said, the words you’ve heard, the love you’ve had and all you do. Let me out. I’m done with you. Let me go and do my own thing, and you do yours. You go fuck things up, without me. I’ve had it. I can’t take any more of you.’

Rob Brydon: Again. Especially when he does that small man in a box thing. Actually, no. I’m being mean. But he does irritate me.

Postmen who do that red card thing without knocking or ringing the doorbell: Nothing saddens my heart more than getting up from my desk and going to the kitchen, passing the front door, and seeing that red card on the doormat which means I have to go pick ting up from sorting office. I was in. I was in. I was so in. I was in the house balls deep I was so in. Ring, call, whatever. I’d be there for you. But instead you make me feel like a failure for not being there for you. I’m taking this too seriously I think…

So. That lot will go in my Room 101. To be consigned to… what. Ah. Torment me. Fairy nuff. I’ve got enough going on right now that dealing with this little lot should be a breeze.


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