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Real People Issue 30 2021

Real People is a real-life title which delivers real-life stories, puzzles (and prizes) and affordable practical advice (food, fashion & beauty).

Country:
United Kingdom
Language:
English
Publisher:
Hearst Magazines UK
Frequency:
Weekly
$1.29
$42.35
52 Issues

in this issue

1 min
this week in your fab value

School will soon be out for summer not Covid. Boy, it feels good to write those words! Most of us will be staycationing this year, though, slurping dripping ice-cream cones and realising why sandwiches got the name. But Poppy’s story has got me fantasising about Paphos and Ayia Napa and Corfu. Sun-soaked holidays past. I swear I can smell the coconut sun cream, taste the fishbowl cocktails and feel that stinging knee from where I was turfed off a moped… and I just know that a foam party would set the world to rights! Poppy was in Zante, working as a shot girl, which was guaranteed to make her popular with the opposite sex. She was hoping for a bit of sun, sea and passion. She only went and found…

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3 min
ours mad world!

Comedy TOT I MADE THE SQUAD, MUM My daughter, Ivy, three, broke into my make-up bag and decided to doll herself up. Only, she went for a startling Harley Quinn from Suicide Squad look! Erin Townsend, Weston-super-Mare, Somerset UK Petty pensioners Graham and Irene Lee had their neighbour’s tree cut in half after moaning birds sang too loud and messed on their drive. The Sheffield miseries say they’ll do it again when it grows back. Leaf it out you two! FAMILY GUY The world’s most fertile father died aged 76. Ziona Chana from India was a polygamist and had 94 kids, 36 grandkids and a whopping 38 wives! Sounds like he needs the rest. I TAKE THEE FLIPPER Weird people have married even weirder things • A dolphin (Sharon Tendler, UK) • Duvet (Pascale Sellick, UK) • Herself (Laura Mesi, Italy) • An…

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8 min
my achilles’ heel

The fresh air was like a comforting blanket. I was walking round the park, holding on to my housemate John’s two huskies, Bud and Blue. Walking the dogs always cleared my head. But as I got back to John’s, let the boys off their leads, my boyfriend, David Croxton, poked his head out of our bedroom door. ‘You coming to bed?’ he snapped. ‘I’m not in the mood,’ I whispered. David raised an eyebrow. I knew if I didn’t have sex with him, he’d get in such a funk, it wouldn’t be worth it. I looked at the dogs’ leads hanging limply in my hands. It’s like I’ve got one of these around my neck. Except nobody ever lets me off. Yet when we met, I’d thought David was offering me freedom. That was six years earlier, when I was 19. My…

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4 min
speed demon

I listened as he gibbered about a silver Peugeot pulling out in front of him. I didn’t care. I had no foot! ‘Please, just go,’ I said. I knew he felt guilty, but I couldn’t deal with it. ‘I’m sorry,’ he pleaded. ‘Really, if I could swap places with you…’ I turned my head into the pillow. He couldn’t. End of. I was in hospital for a month, told the police what I could remember of the accident – very little. Just noise and shock and BOOM. I couldn’t bear to burden John with the new me – he deserved a ‘proper’ girlfriend. I felt so ugly and misshapen, and I couldn’t even walk the dogs. So I went to live with Mum. I was given physio to prepare for a prosthetic leg. So I’d try to stand, make myself…

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8 min
swelling with pride

Nuzzling my daughter’s sleepy brow, I made a resolution. And my hubby, Kenan, 29, nodded in agreement. Both of us were firm in our belief. ‘No more babies,’ I said. His son, Kayden, five, from another relationship, and our baby girl, Camila, were enough for us. Why were we so sure we didn’t want to add to our lovely two-some? I suffered from a ‘bicornuate’, or heart-shaped, womb. But it wasn’t as poetic as it sounded – it meant reduced space for a baby to grow. Camila had been born three months premature in August 2008, weighing just 3lb. She’d been in and out of hospital for the first two years of her life. The toll of the worry about our little bundle and fretful nights had seared deeply into our souls. ‘We can’t go through that again,’ I said now. But…

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3 min
barbecue sores

Strapping four kids and all the barbecue bits into the car was never going to happen. My BMW hatchback wasn’t one of those Minis that a line of clowns can step out of! No, Jamie, 18 months, and his sister, Abbie, six, would come with me. While Tom, five, and Jack, nine, were going in their dad Danny’s van. Our eldest two, Mark, 14, and Mackenzie, 10, were stopping at home. And in May this year, the Howard convoy was off, heading the two hours to Barmouth Beach on the west coast of Wales. When we arrived, Danny, 33, lit two disposable barbecues in the sand. Soon the waft of bangers and burgers drifted to where I was making sandcastles with the kids. ‘Ready,’ Danny called. We gobbled the grub with sandy fingers, chatting and larking about. Kids full, they…

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