Another Day Another Blog

a sc fi for women about women-1 copyI grew up in “seventies Essendon”, a suburb of Melbourne and a stone’s throw from Moonee Ponds-Dame Edna territory. As a kid, I met many Dame Edna like women including some of my family.

My parents spent their time ‘doing up’ the house which in the 70’s meant, large flowery wallpaper, brown and green carpet, and wood everywhere. It was like living in a sitcom.

I remember coming back from Scotland having learned how to cook in a hotel. I made egg mayonnaise and lasagne for tea.

“Easy on the garlic,” said my mother tight-lipped. “You know what your father’s like.”

My father looked at it made some comment about “a waste of mince,” then poked at the white sauce. “Is that smelly cheese?”

No one touched the egg mayonnaise.

“It’s homemade,” I said, referring to the mayonnaise, not the egg. Forgetting completely my parent’s low fat, keep your heart-healthy diet, my sister’s dodgy fat averse stomach, and my brother’s sniff and I don’t think so approach. Expecting my family to embrace seventies British cuisine when even my nana’s tomato chutney was seen as “alien” was like expecting Dame Edna to throw a compliment to her audience.

Two hours later my dad was at the chippy oblivious to me sulked in front of the Two Ronnie’s. My first “know your audience or die” moment had been painful.

As a comic writer finding my audience has not been easy.

One man’s funny bone is another man’s snooze button, and one woman’s joke is another woman’s insult. But I have found reading my work out loud helps, especially to a group of readers on their second glass of wine.

So here is my read to you, Bunny and her bouncy chest, inspired by none other than Benny Hill and Rosanne Barr.

Enjoy, I hope you laugh and if you don’t, try watching again after a glass or three.


a sc fi for women about women-1 copy

First published at

Kerrie Noor Is A Comedy, Romance & Sci-Fi Author based in Scotland. Explore her recent work on Amazon or contact her for more information.

Her new book ‘Rebel Without A Clue’ is now available via Smashwords, Kobo and Nook Ibooks.

Once Videoed Twice Shy

Dive into Pete’s log, an android from planet Hy Man.

His manager, boss, and person of significance is Mex. A woman who was a hero on planet Hy Man capturing men with her thighs of steel. Now on earth, her thighs are more like jelly, squashing a grape is about all she can manage.  And while Pete has spent his time trying to understand the difference between a virgin train and a virgin bride. Mex has spent the last month going “cold turkey” not with the Christmas leftovers but with sugar itself.

Please read on…

January 2019-A Trifle Sweet

Woody calls women complicated but not as complicated as Mex and her video. Bunny didn’t call it complicated she called it a pile of cat litter. And after Woody explained to me what cat litter was, I tended to agree with her.

Mex had no idea that we had all watched her video. She was too busy trying not to think about sugar. It wasn’t easy, she dreamt the dreams of an addict, of a Man Spy gone wrong. She sweated and shook until her first cup of coffee in the morning and then had to face the day with only Bunny’s turkey sandwiches to keep her going and no amount of mayonnaise was going to make that fun.

The festive season was open house season for Bunny, who claimed Hogmanay (New Year) was owned by the Scots.

“A time of seeing out the old and bringing in the new,” she said. “With food, booze and friends that not only don’t stand on ceremony but friends that did.”

A ploy if you ask me to get rid of the remains of Christmas turkey which had made its way into every dish imaginable except perhaps for a trifle.

Turkey is not all it’s cracked up to be in fact it reminds me of the sort of whiffy soya I often found in Mex’s fridge after a week away at rebooting camp.

“Home cooked food is the key,” Bunny said rolling handfuls of minced turkey into balls, Mex at first was convinced until asked to stir a pot of bones for stock. It was a stock cube too far and it nearly had her reaching for Bunny’s Toblerone.

Mex was on the verge of mutiny when the first Hogmanay guest arrived. She took one look at Mex’s flustered face and recognized her on YouTube. Apparently, videos of cat litter quality abound on YouTube especially cats and Christmas tree, and Bunny had seen an opening. Mex scaling a Fibre Optic tree behind a cat was making her more money in ads than her dating agency. Bunny was a wiz on the internet.

“You’re the cat on a tree girl, who scaled a Fibre Optic” laughed the guest, “excellent.”

Mex with a confused look offered her a turkey ball then marched back to the kitchen. Peering through the steam, she shouted: “What’s a Fibre Optic?”

Bunny pouring herself and extra-large gin looked up.

“Fibroids Hun are the Bain of woman’s life, my mother, God rest her soul could hardly walk because of them,” she sipped “no, sorry, that’s haemorrhoids. Fibroids are more …how you say, delicate.”

“I see, so climbing them this is possible?’

“Hardly,” said Bunny choking on her gin.

It took Woody whose sense of hearing is on a par with a sheepdog to clear the air and once cleared, it dawned on Mex the reality of her video. For a moment Mex almost lost her resolve, poised by the trifle with a lustful look she turned to Bunny.

“My cat video, you said you’d destroy it.”

“Destroy I don’t think I said that dear.” Said Bunny with a sheepish look.

Mex was speechless a woman as blunt as a woman’s leg razer, she always spoke the truth. And here was Bunny her so-called mentor spinning tales over the rim of her gin.

“Step away from the trifle ma’am” I said, “custard is not the answer.”

Mex caught my eye and dug deep into her Man Spy resolve, I could see beads of sweat form at her brow. With true Planet Hy Man nerve, she picked up the trifle and took it into the living room. A room full of elderly neighbours talking of the good old day when TV was a four-channel affair of knob turning and remote controls were things for landing spaceships on the moon.

“Spaceships on the moons,” laughed Mex dumping the trifle on the table, “how quaint”.

A splurge of sugary cream dribble onto the table and Mex without thinking lifted it with her finger.

“Stop,” I shouted, as Woody made a dive for Mex’s finger missing her completely thanks to Bessie the cat.

Mex’s forefinger poised in the air as the sugary cream oozed down the side of her hand said nothing.

“The best thing to do with that,” said an elderly gent “is to lick it, there is nothing a good lick can’t fix.”

A few of the others chuckled.  Mex, however, remained silent she was at the crossroads of addiction, “to lick or not to lick” she said. Then thrust her hand at Bessie and looked at me.

“Once videoed twice shy,” she muttered.

“Ma’am,” I said. “I cannot but concur.”

a sc fi for women about women-1 copy

First published

Kerrie Noor Is A Comedy, Romance & Sci-Fi Author based in Scotland. Explore her recent work on Amazon or contact her for more information.

Her new book ‘Rebel Without A Clue’ is now available via Smashwords, Kobo and Nook Ibooks.


Four Takeaways And A Funeral Again!

the third in the bellydancing and beyond series-1

Four Takeaways and a Funeral is a novel inspired by many things. Sibling rivalry, the loss of my parents and spending most of my nights in my hubby’s family restaurant writing.

It is a story about communication, or rather the lack of. And how sometimes, when your spoiling for a fight even a pakora is a good enough reason.

My hubby speaks not bad English, definitely better than my attempt at Bangladesh which is usually any sentence I can slap the Bangladesh word for shoe in (the first word I mastered along with genitals). It’s a joke I love to use when I am not getting enough attention and hubby and his family are so engrossed in their Bangladesh talk, they have forgotten not only that I don’t understand but that I am there at all.

And it worked for maybe the first hundred times.

Then when I threaten to buy a new pair of “shoes’ for hubby, he with his ‘you’ve taken that too far’ look ask me to stop mentioning shoes and gentiles in the same sentence and asked me “to tell him what I would like for Christmas before it was over.”

“Another 100 reviews,” I said with what I thought, was a wry smile.

Hubby with a mild choke of spice tea said. “A hundred… the restaurant (meaning their latest) doesn’t even have that and it’s been going for six months.”

“I was joking,” I muttered.

“Joking? About reviews? Why would you do this? Especially when the last review called our dhal cement mixture,” which both Hubby and I knew was written by the kebab man.

“What do you expect him to say,” I said.

Hubby shrugged his shoulders.

“Forget kebabs, forget my Samoas tries next door-way better…”

Hubby sniffed at his tea.

“And I wasn’t talking about your place I’m talking about me and my books-this video…”

Hubby watched the video three times. When I say three, he was called away three times, so I made him sit through from the start each time. Finally, giving the phone to the tandoori chief, he pulled up a seat and sat through the whole video…

Then said to me. “But you know where the lids are-you put them there.

“It a story,” I said.

“I know but why would the roadworks man want to find lids?”

“I think you missing the point. It’s about helping and getting in the way.”

“Arh yes,” he said, “like when I cut your hair.”

“No that is called being drunk. You should not listen to me when I am drunk.”

At which point the phone rang and the tandoori chief with a glum look thrust the phone into hubby’s hand.

It was the kebab man someone had left a review on facebook calling his kebabs fit for oven cleaning.

After a long Bangladesh conversation where the word shoe was never mentioned my Hubby finally hung up and turned to me with his best wry smile.

“He said, “your hair is beautiful, and that lopsided fringes are very fashionable in



the third in the bellydancing and beyond series-1

Originally published at

Kerrie Noor Is A Comedy, Romance & Comedy Sci-Fi Author based in Scotland.

Her new book ‘Four Takeaways and a Funeral’ is now available via Smashwords, Kobo and Nook Ibooks.


The Diary of An Adroid

The Festivities Of An Asda Addict

Dive into Pete’s log, an android from planet Hy Man who along with Mex, his commander has been sent to earth to do heroic deeds. So far, the only heroic deed they have accomplished is mastering a mobile.

Woody is his best pal and mentor, a young man blighted by his short stature. Woody dreams of becoming a Sci-Fi writer and making those who dismiss him “eat their words”. Pete dreams of blending in; which is not easy when you look like a golden street performer and have the flexibility of latex doll. While Mex far from being heroic fantasizes of Bunny-less days with her feet up and a box of Tablet-although fudge would do.

And who is Bunny you ask?

Bunny is the first woman Mex met and has stuck like an egg on a hotplate. She sees herself as Mex’s mentor, and the last thing Mex thinks she needs is a mentor.

Please read on…

December 2018-The Pedestrian And Stuffed Turkey  

Bunny says Christmas, “is all about cheese, alcohol and spending time with the sort of friends that don’t require standing on ceremony.”  While Woody says Christmas, “is a time for TV repeats, stuffed turkey and a new supply of socks”. Either way, it seems Christmas requires a lot of time spending money and waiting in car queues.

Mex and Bunnie threw themselves into the festive spirit with a quick scoot around 24 hours Asda.

“Let’s give this saving the planet a rest for a day,” said Bunny heading for the whiskey.

“Throw in some Tablet and I am yours,” said Mex, behind a trolley full of cheese.

Two hours and a full to bursting trolley requiring the strength of weightlifter to push, Mex was out of her box on sugar. A complete sugar addict she had munched her way through Asda’s finest while checking out the children’s section, trying out the fairy lights section and wondering what the pickle is this in the dispensary section.

Asda to Mex was like porn shop to a sixteen-year-old and she had just about as much self-control. She ripped into the sweet stuff with a gay abandonment I had never seen before, all under the excuse of working out the difference between Tablet, fudge, and toffee. By the time they had hit the check-out, she was as high as a planet Hy Man penthouse. And by the time Bunny had left the car park and paused at the pedestrian crossing Mex was hysterically laughing, until she saw what stopped the traffic.

We have no sugar on Planet Hy Man let alone an Asda. What we have is dried soya which hits the tastes bud like vinegar, but apparently is very good for lubricating things.  And The Market which makes Marrakesh look like a garage sale. It sells everything, in fact, the only thing you can’t get there is self-respect, a man and a job.

As for drivers the leaders got rid of them years ago, we have computer driven limos for the rich and mopeds for the poor, which take the legs of an American wrestle to peddle start.

Watching manual driving cars under the influence was the height of hilarity for Mex until an elderly woman sauntered up to the lights. Mex laughter stopped, as she watched the elderly woman regally waved to the drivers.

“Should I salute?” she said.

“No, but shutting up might help.” Said Bunny.

Christmas day for Mex was a blur…

The rest of us spent Christmas day ripping up a turkey that took days to stuff while watching The Two Ronnie’s, The Queen’s speech and Tesco adds. Mex still unclear of the difference between fudge, toffee, and Tablet and had filled the recycle bin with empty packets. And was so high she thought the ads were comedies, the Two Ronnie’s was the news and the Queen’s speech was messages from above and beyond. Claiming that the queen and the pedestrian crossing woman were not only incognito but “standing on ceremony”, which has a whole new meaning on planet Hy Man.

Mex was to quote Bunny paranoid.

“They just elderly,” said Bunny removing all traces of sugar. “nothing to fear.”

“Fear they are the enemy where I come from,” said Mex snatching a fudge finger from Bunny, “everything to fear.”

Mex ripped open the last of the chocolate, as the cat still waiting for its turkey had had enough of sniffing and made a lunge for the table knocking the Christmas tree into the pyramid of recyclables.

“Film that,” shouted Bunny to Woody.

Woody poised over his Nokia looked up “me”?

‘Who else,” she said. “Captain Kirk,” grabbing of Mex’s fudge finger. “Or spark plug sally,” which I assumed she met me.

As quick as the cat Mex grabbed Bunny iPhone and with a shout “this will confuse the leader,” began filming.

The next day shaking with withdrawals Mex saw her debut film. After her third black coffee, she closed the laptop with disgust vowing to lay off toffee, fudge, in fact, all sugar for ninety days. Apparently, it takes that long to break a habit.

Bunny took the laptop away mumbling something about a reminder, last resorts, and blackmail. As Woody whistled through his teeth and offered me one of his new pairs of socks to try on.

Originally published at



Four Takeaways and a Funeral by Kerrie Noor

great review


Four Takeaways and a Funeral: A Deliciously Succulent Comedy (Belly dancing and Beyond) By Kerrie Noor


Mavis and Lumpy are getting married. It is to be a small affair with a hot and spicy theme, a few close friends, and a celebrant on Skype.

“We want no fuss,” said Mavis. “Just lots of food, great photos, and belly-dancing.”


Mavis’s idea of hot and spicy is not Lumpy’s, and Lumpy’s idea of great photos is definitely not Mavis’s. Mavis and Lumpy find there is more to getting married than organizing the dips. And as their relationship spirals out of control Mavis loses her mother and must come to terms with a past she would rather forget.

With a funeral befitting a sitcom, sibling rivalry on a par with a Shakespearean tragedy and a dying mother’s impossible wish; Mavis and Lumpy relationship crumbles like a burnt chapatti.

And it is…

View original post 483 more words

Hubby Without a Clue

Rebel Without a Clue is my latest novel and first venture into comic Sci Fi. I hope you like the video I enjoy talking to myself, in fact, I get quite excited. Living away from your hubby can do that to a woman.

Inspired by my video revelations about my parent’s  romping beneath the washing line. I wondered about the next hubby’s visit and his weeks of washing. Could he be enticed with a bit of nylon and matching clothe’s peg-a prolonged sock pulling from the washing machine?

My underwear is not fit for public swinging but, I thought, maybe a few matching towels or a sheet might do the trick along with a sultry glance, a joke and perhaps something in nylon?

I slipped on the only nylon get up I could find, pulled washing from the machine and ventured into the wind outside. Hubby would be down any minute…

“You fancy fish,” he shouted from the bedroom, he comes from Bangladesh where fish is a delicacy and a whole lot more…

“Just hanging out the washing,” I shouted back.

“It’s from the restaurant.” He said.

“Just heading out,” I said intent on some seductive bending.

I began to wrestle against the wind which had turned into a gale. Hubby soon appeared looking for tea, he poked his head out the window to see me fighting with a sheet and started to laugh.

“Where did you get those trouser from? They look like pyjamas.”

Which, clinging to my legs like an illuminous bin bag probably were. Never get dressed in the dark.

“They’re nylon,” I said.

He came outside. I went for my best bend with a seductive sigh, my back clicked, I grunted with a jolt.

He put his hand on my hips “this is nylon?” he said, “very greasy for nylon.”

He had in the past worked in the ‘garment industry’ as he liked to call it and it seems was an expert on nylon.

“This is not nylon,” he said. “Where did you get it?”

“It was in the bottom drawer, can you help me up.”

He tutted impatiently “I didn’t mean now! Where did you buy them from?”

“Can’t remember-can you help me up?”

“I mean if this nylon, I’m an Indian.” he said hands now on his hips.

“It was meant to be an experiment for my book-can you just help me up?”

“You have cheap pyjamas in your book? I thought you said it was a Sci Fi?”

This time it was my turn for an impatient tut. “It was more about the bending, ” I muttered straighten up with exaggerated pain.

“And nylon, this necessary?”

“I thought it was.”

“I have a friend he could get you something decent.”

“Just help me inside.”

“What about the washing?” he muttered with concern.

I looked up from my Quasimode stance to see the sheet frantically flapping in the wind-a corner dragged across a puddle.

“The puddle?” he said now aggrieved.

I wondering what the sheet had that I didn’t?

“Just get me on the couch-better still the bed,” I said.

“Good thing you’re in your pyjamas then,” muttered hubby who helped me inside. Then, like a knight in shining armour went out to save the sheet.

Kerrie Noor

an Aussie sunning it in Scotland


Coffee, Reveiws and Second Thoughts


Well it happened I got a review from hell and then…another. I sent out my soon to be published Sc Fi for women to a group of readers-some liked it and just as many didn’t. One reader even left a robust in-depth criticism on a par with my English teacher and it caused a dark cloud over my weekend away with Hubby.

My English teacher – Haemaroid Mary – aptly named due to her walking like she had one the size of a football; always sent my stories back covered in red marks and comments such as…

‘I find this hard to believe.’

‘Is there such a word?’

‘Were you drunk when you wrote this?’

Her idea of constructive criticism was to tell me to get a job in Macdonalds where ‘no spelling was required!’

‘What’s wrong?’ says Hubby.

We were strutting past a castle at the time, Hubby was hell-bent on ‘catching the sunset’ with me in front of it and I was skidding behind on the cobbles. Without waiting for an answer he pointed to the highest rock on the beach and told me to…

‘Stand there!’

 I slipped my clogs off and grunted into position.

 ‘Can you not smile?’ He said.

‘Smile,’ I said; ‘I’ve just been told that my comedy is as funny as constipation with humaroids,’ still thinking about Mary.

He looked at me ‘that’s too crude to be funny.’

‘I’m just trying to make a point.’

 ‘What, that you have problem with evacuation?’

 My Hubby likes to explore English in all its forms –being that it is his second language.

 ‘I just need time to digest everything’ I said, ‘work out what to do. Maybe I am not meant to write, maybe I am not funny, maybe I should just go and work at Macdonalds. I slumped into my pose.

‘We get complaints all the time in the restaurant,’ he said, ‘and do you see me complaining?’  My Hubby works in his brother’s Indian.

He was not impressed; ‘if I acted like you I’d never fry a pakora again.’

Then we had an argument about the size of a parkora until I tripped over my clog  again and this time he laughed.

‘Actually, I could do with a coffee’, I muttered.

‘What NOW?’

‘Well, yes.’

‘But we just left the B&B you had one there.’

‘Nescafé is not coffee,’ I snapped.

 He sniffed, and after three photos of me posing with as he put it, a ‘face like a pakora’…it an Asian thing.

He gave in and we headed for Costa. And me, to prove my point, ordered the largest….

He looked at me with a ‘you’ll never drink all that,’ face and I, as all good women do made it my mission to prove my Hubby wrong.

One large coffee later…

 ‘Who cares about reviews,’ I shouted…

 I downed another and then regretted it on the long journey home…

Finally gate crashing a funeral to use the amenities as Hubby like to put it.

 Kerrie Noor

A lover of the real coffee bean.

Who laughs in the face of reveiwers after a cup full.

Ps I am aware of a small spelling mistake in the heading. However I have decided in the spirit of the blog it keep it in…