Take time out from your busy day with Good Earth – a range of organic premium teas which taste delicious and are blended to perfection to ensure you get a relaxing break. Flavours include Sweet Citrus White Tea, Cool Mint Herbal Tea, Jasmine Blossom Green Tea and Harvest Berries Red Tea. Click here for more information.
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A small room with no fresh air Nothing to read ONly a continual track of people telling me how I have dissapointed them for my whole life. No DS to cuddle No food except tomatoes and olives. Being forced to smell coffee Being forced to to my times tables over and over again and not letting me go to the toilet until i got it right so i pee myself (that happened at primary school)
I am on Jeremy Kyle where my husband has taken me to inform me that he has been enjoying 3 somes with my sister and best friend and both of them are now pregnant despite him telling me for years he couldn’t have children.
It is then revealed that this has all been a huge Jeremy Beadle style ‘joke’ and actually everyone I have ever me in my entire life is there to celebrate my birthday.
No-one has brought a present.
There is however a large, dry, supermarket cake and a 4 pack of warm own brand lager that we all have to share with no glasses.
Endless rap/hiphop/bhangra music on a tape loop. Dogs everywhere, salivating and defecating. Reality TV and soaps on all channels. No books. Apart from Jordan type stuff. A cold swimming-pool in which everyone is forced to "enjoy" themselves.
Mind you, though, Heaven would be full of smug Christians. Do I really want to go there?
I was thinking about this and realised there would be another bit to mine...
As well as it being an eternal caravan holiday with Itsy bitsy teeny weeny yellow polka dot bikini playing on a loop, only tofu to eat, pouring with rain, me stuck in the van with Richard Madeley, Jeremy Clarkson and Dean Gaffney - who want to play strip poker....I'd have...
The WORST, ahem, intimate itch that I was DESPERATE to scratch, but I'd be unable to sneak away to do it.
Oh, and they'd be farting and the windows would be sealed shut.
Actually <gibber> it's being trapped in a room full of polystyrene chips, which are gradually increasing in number and about to suffocate me. My hands are tied so I have to <yelp> chew my way out... oh, the horror, I need another drink now.
I am travelling by bus through a non specific South American country with diarrhoea. I am squashed onto the back seat between Paris Hilton who is making a hilarious "slumming it" documentary and Jim Davidson who is trying out his new ethnic material. We have cold tripe and onions to eat using wooden chip forks. There is no rest stop for another 300 miles and I have lost my contact lenses. The bus driver has a very small transistor radio balanced on the dashboard which he tries to tune in as we hurtle round blind bends-he has found a station which is playing the Mini-Pops. I have no toilet paper.
can't really get my head around the thing but I do know that my own persoanl hell involves bananas, play stations , jordan and the people who go on the jeremy kyle show. Oh and steps records...bleurgh!
OH GAWD...Janestillhere my teeth falling out is part of mine too and the licking of a wet lolly stick (I struggle holding those wooden stirry things in starbucks <shudder>)
I would have to run my tongue over a wooden ice lolly stick whilst stood in snow wearing jeans that are wet up to my knees. My collar smells of baby barf and I am late for a job interview. My scrunchie is nowhere to be found and then my teeth start to crumble whilst I am talking. Then I accidently fart and follow through
Stuck in a tunnel on the Victoria Line on a summer day, it's crowded and the person beside me is clicking together/filing their fingernails and Dancing In The Moonlight by Toploader is on repeat play over their mobile phone speaker.
I'd be wearing a poloneck made of itchy man-made fibres while pushing a wonky trolley through a very hot shop. Everything I touch would give me a static shock. I would only be allowed to eat wool.
It would be hot and very humid, with high winds and no elastic bands or any other means of keeping my hair out of my eyes <grinds teeth>. I would be pushing a buggy that made a quiet but persistent "click click click" noise and had a wonky front wheel. There would be a child in it, whinging at the pitch that only toddlers can achieve.
There would be crowds, not looking where they were going, stopping dead at the bottom of escalators and outside shop doors. Many of them would be soap-dodgers or unacquainted with deoderant. My handbag strap would continually slide off my shoulder. My too-tight shoes would be rubbing at the back of my heel. I would have that constant feeling of wanting to sneeze, but being unable to.
The soundtrack would be Jeremy Vine being interrupted by John Humphreys, with thrash metal in the background. And it would all smell of stinking nappies.
On holiday in a very hot foreign country with 12 'mates' where the toilet is a hole in the ground , there is no air conditioning and we have no money to go out and enjoy ourselves.
ah what a lovely coincidence that madamez posted as my personal hell would be that I was locked in a room with loads of moths and daddy long legs, with Russel Brand forcing me to morris dance, surrounded by morris dancers.
Also someone would be forcing me to eat seafood, and suck James Blunt's toes
And I would constantly be jerked awake from a deep sleep at 2.30 every morning - oh hang on, that's happening most nights anyway....
I am laughing too much to think mine out properly but... I would have violent diarrhoea but no access to a toilet, and across a spider-infested pit would be able to see that DS was being looked afte by Clair Verity.
being at a M&T group with twins whilst the smiths and red hot chilis played. and ham sandwiches were served and i was wearing a mini skirt with underpants on and everyone could see them as i bent over to stop some kid from biting my kids. just then i fart loudly and a pair of of white granny knickers fall onto the floor, mortified i pee just a little bitand it drips onto off white knickers. the twins both shit themselves and i try to change them becuase everyone thinks i am a bad mum. all the babies are crying and all the mums are judging and the music is very loud when dt2 pissed in my face and shit ends up on the white carpet.
then my MIL walks in and does everything perfect whilst criticising me in a way that doesnt get noticed by dh who is there but not helping.
I would be at a really, really crowded concert on a very hot day. The line-up would include Snow Patrol, James Blunt, Athlete and a special three-hour set from the Cranberries. All the crowd would be steamingly drunk, though I would be stone cold sober. I would desperately need a wee but there would be no toilets. The only food available would be chicken nuggets and celery. Halfway through James Blunt's third rendition of 'You're Beautiful', it would start raining spiders. And I would have a migraine.
Sitting in my living room, with an Ofsted inspector doing my inspection whislt three (usually very well behaved) mindees decide that they are all going to playup and test my crowdcontrolskills positive behaviour management.
... or sitting on a long haul flight with my mother complaining, I cannot sleep on planes and cannot get comfortable (never gone first class)
A really smelly, noisy person would be in close vicinity and they keep interrupting the fecking film so I can't even enjoy some distraction.... usually you don't get to see the end of it
I refuse to go on holiday with my mother ever again
I would be rushing back to my car (with zero minutes left to collect dd from playschool 7 miles away) with a big bag of straw (for the rabbit and all the baby rabbits that arrived unexpectedly and no-one wants) on a really windy day. The lock wouldn't unlock and the car just wouldn't open. The opener thingy will not work anymore and the car just won't drive.. No, wait, that's this morning...
Tutter - NO - no WAY am I ever reading that I have been told what it is about mine is an entirely spontaneous and original phobia, not inspired by any work of fiction, but by the true and very real evil that is the painted freaks themselves
I have not been able to clean my teeth for days, and I am at a Geri Halliwell 'Woman Within' seminar. In the afternoon a man from London Zoo will encourage to have fun handling tropical frogs. Cliff Richard is duetting with Westlife over the tinny tannoy, and the boy behind me keps kicking the back of my seat.
Being forced to eat big twiggy insects or king prawns...something crunchy in order to save dc (or some scenario when there was no other choice) then having to shag a big rubber bloke with the sort of sagging stomach you'd have to lift up to find...well god only knows what you'd find there. Following that, a walk into the playground naked. Oh and UB40 would be playing in the background.
My personal Hell would be me, on my own, looking after someone else's kids who are little horrors, having to cook for them (i am a rubbish cook and hatehatehate it), having to wipe their bums, and all the while i would have the cracking-est migraine going. And wouldn't know where my own kids were - which would be agonizing enough on it's own.
It would be some combination of being way too cold, being late for something important, dogs and great heights. Maybe while panicking about being late I wasted valuable time and concentration zipping a coat up and a dog chose that very moment to knock me over the sheer cliff face that happened to be next to me. This would all happen to a Radiohead soundtrack.
I am having to kiss Jeremy Clarkson. He has got splatters of cold congealed gravy around his mouth and Chris de Burgh is serenading us with "The Lady in Red".
I would be in a butcher's van, with dead pig carcases hanging and swinging as we went round the corners. There would be a clown in the corner wearing full face paint and imitating me when my back was turned. The driver would have eaten garlic the night before and then applied strong perfume to try to mask it. The floor would be slick with the saliva from the driver's dog which would bark and leer at me from time to time. We would be driving to Disneyland.
I am not mentioning loofahs as I would start to gibber.
I am that you are all lucky enough to have reading matter (in spite of the content). My hell has no books and no toilet. It is of course over 100 degrees and the piper has never seen or heard of deodorant and has that "I just stubbed out a fag" smell
Nothing to eat except celery and doner kebab. I have no teeth, have become a chain smoker and live in an enclosed space with maggots squirming around my feet. I am watching endless episodes of Neighbours and Eastenders without alcohol. There is no central heating and there are no computers except for 'tennis' and 'space invaders'.
Ikea before christmas and heavily pregnant (this actually happened btw, but the details are added) or perhaps pregnancy would be a nice thing, so maybe just fat and feeling sick instead.
there is loads of raw meat and fish everywhere. music would be rap - really hardcore mysogynistic rap. and there would only be hello and take a break to read. and they would make me wear 'fashion', makeup and have my nails painted. and I would be wearing heels.
I'd be stuck in a pothole,with 2ft of icy cold water lapping around my calves.A vomitting child would be sitting on my knee,puking to a background of Celine Dion warbling horribly and a dog barking over & over again.
All there would be to eat would be tofu & cous cous,drink would be herbal tea,and I'd be forced to watch X Factor,Srictly Come Dancing,and other tosh of that ilk.My reading matter would be 'hello''ok' & dire mnagazines with either Jordan or Kerry Katona on the front.It would smell of sweaty trainers & wet dog.
A world with no sugar, no flat shoes, a bra that is too tight, knickers that keep disappearing up your arse crack, the smell of ashtrays all around, interspersed with vomit and diarrhoea smells, and no plants.
That is truly hell littlemy34 i presume Bruce Forsythe is in the kitchen naked except for pointed shiny shoes and everyone's pockets are full of loose jam.
In mine there would be plug in air fresheners in every electric socket in the house, plus those ones that do the 'puff' every three minutes and change colour - all with different smells. the windows would be sealed shut, and the heating stuck on full. the TV would be showing Dancing on Ice, Strictly Come Dancing and Blind Date on a continuous loop on full volume. the only thing to eat would be anchovies and Spam. and Jeremy Clarkson and Jeremy Paxman would be having an argument on my sofa.
Hey everyone, don't forget --- Mumsnet would not exist and we'd all be members of <insert name of fluffy ticker-filled site of choice, cos I'm too cowardly..>
Not 100% sure of the total "vibe" in my personal hell but it would defo involve Sian Lloyd, people who talk and get globules of spit attached from one lip to the other (boak) and shellfish
Mine would be in a car park of Ikea surrounded by massive 4x4s, unable to cross the road to get coffee (due to said beasts).
A small dog would be yapping constantly in the background and there would be a big pond full of seaweed that I had to stand in while waiting to cross the road.
I would be repeatedly forced to eat food containing lemon grass and to drink camomile tea.
There would be no ventolins and I would be choking on fumes. Lee Evans would be doing his hilarious stand-up routine next to me.
It would involve a swimming pool (fear of water and not being able to wear my glasses). And a poolside restaurant where I had to eat meat. Although not having glasses on might actually help, there, I suppose. And someone reading aloud the complete works of Jeffrey Archer, while the music system plays experimental jazz.
In my personal hell I have missed the last bus or train home and have not got my phone with me, or any money to call anyone. It's about three in the morning and I have to walk eleven miles home. I am drunk enough to feel lousy, not drunk enough not to care. It is lashing rain and I am wearing a hairy mohair jumper which quickly gets soaked. Rain spottles my glasses and trickles down my neck. I need to go to the loo badly and also realise I am getting my period. I have not put on deodorant that morning and as I walk I smell the combination of wet wool and armpit. My jeans are too tight (and sodden) and the label at the neck of my jumper is wearing a sore at the nape of my neck. Etc etc into the night. Oh and I have a job interview at 8.30 the following morning and have to go back into town first to collect my car.
Northfield, Birmingham on a Saturday afternoon. I am with Dawn French and she is singing Take That songs over and over again. And all there is to eat is meat. And all there is to read is Ian McCewan.
I am stuck for eternity in a villa on some ill-advised holiday with two other families with whom I have fallen out spectacularly. They have odious children.
It is always 90 degrees in the shade. There is no breeze.
There is only tripe and hard-boiled eggs to eat.
My dh and children are not there.
Oh, and there is a perky bimbo who wakes us every morning at 5am for 2 hours of aerobics.
MIL would be sitting in the corner with an endless supply of tacky gifts and patronising comments. There would be Mantovani-type muzak on tape loop, alternating with early Pink Floyd. The fridge would be empty of everything but cheese, and there would be nothing but cheap red wine to drink. The wardrobe would be full of 1980s fashions, and there would be Ugg boots and nothing else to put on my feet. There would be nothing to read except chick-lit, butterflies would flit gaily around day and night, the room would be completely covered in mirrors and would smell of cabbage and Stilton. Cali's bagpiper would occasionally give her 12 hours off and stand outside the room with a dozen of his mates playing a selection of military airs at top volume (having brought along a drum corps to keep them all in time).
Mine would be having to copulate with a bloke called Dean who I used to work with, who had hair like Elvis, wore cowboy boots and had a Lord of the Rings ring.
Mine would be underground in a water filled pot hole, with the strains of Cliff Richard singing Miseltoe & Wine being played loudly whilst others threw tinned cooked tomatoes at me, with bats flying about and cockroaches climbing the walls
Mine would resemble a shopping mall with muzak, thousands of shoppers and having to wear 'fashiobale clothes' ugh. Cribbs Causeway in Bristol to be precise. See, they've built my hell. Oh, and add my mother to it for that extra experience.
An eternity of smelly tube train rides, being groped by some lecherous 'gent', whilst having to inhale the bodily odour of the dubious looking 6ft tall man boy, who looks like he would be quite happy to murder everyone in the vicinity.
I intend being lovely for ever so I can avoid my own hell. In my hell I would walking a vomiting rottweiller and would be followed by a bagpiper playing arrangements of popular tunes. The whole place would smell of hops and broccoli. I would be naked but for a pair of cripplingly high heels (or crocs). I would not have my glasses so I would not be able to see. What is your personal hell?
Take time out from your busy day with Good Earth – a range of organic premium teas which taste delicious and are blended to perfection to ensure you get a relaxing break. Flavours include Sweet Citrus White Tea, Cool Mint Herbal Tea, Jasmine Blossom Green Tea and Harvest Berries Red Tea. Click here for more information.
and it's communal [gulp]
