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Shopping List …Bananas, Loo Rolls, Cat Food, Windows …Windows?

Hi All

You all know what a sweet, meek and mild individual I am, right? Right. So it might surprise you to learn that some days ago I was incensed to the point where I ‘took on’ two men in Morrison’s.

My temper started to rise as I stood packing Richard’s extra strong deodorant and his horrible little pots of ‘spread.’ They claim to be beef, chicken, salmon, tuna and mayonnaise, etc. Weirdly, they all smell much the same – but then, why should I worry, the man eats anything with no concern for how many ears, fins and butts go into his choices of sustenance. I digress …

As I loaded up the twenty-toilet roll pack, balancing it precariously, with my eyes still on the little scene causing my anger, I flipped.

‘Look at those window salesmen!’ I hissed to the checkout lady. ‘Can you see them? Every time someone walks past that tall one jumps out and stands in front of the trolley and forces them into a conversation about buying their crap windows!’

‘I know,’ she said.

‘Can you see them? Look, they’ve stopped that little lady and she looks really uncomfortable.’

‘I know,’ she said.

‘Honestly,’ I said, ‘I’m going to give them a piece of my mind.’

‘I know,’ she said.

I don’t think she was really listening. Either that or she was wondering what anyone could want with six tubs of glace cherries?

As I scooted off, with a trolley that kept veering to the right, she added, ‘Good luck, I’ll be watching.’

Trundling along, actually seeking eye-contact should they not leap out on me like they had to everyone else attempting to exit Morrison’s, wrapped in their own little thoughts and not wanting to be disturbed by, ‘Have you thought about new windows?’ I approached. For a moment, I thought they weren’t going to stop me (how could that be?) so I slowed down.

The little guy sidled up to my trolley and the tall guy stepped in front of it and placed a hand on my pack of loo rolls. Big mistake.

‘Madam,’ the tall one said, grinning like a sodding shark, ‘have you considered new windows?’

‘And if I have?’ I said.

‘Well, we can offer …’

I held up a hand, cutting him off at the pass. ‘What makes you think that if I needed new windows I would buy them from someone jumping out in front of my trolley, in a supermarket? I come to the supermarket to buy food, NOT windows and NOT to be stopped by you!’

‘Some people like to stop and chat,’ he said, his grin not quite so wide now.

‘I don’t!’ I said, ‘and neither did those little old ladies that I saw you stop. I don’t come here to be pounced on by you.’

‘Madam, ‘he said, ‘we stand here so that we can get our product ‘out’ there. We have to network, perhaps you don’t understand the concept of networking and …’

Up came the hand again, very rudely, but he really was full of it. ‘Don’t tell me I don’t understand networking and promotion, I’m a writer…’ I actually said that and cringed inwardly ‘…I have to promote my product, but I don’t promote it HERE, do I? I don’t stop little old ladies and force them to buy something they don’t want, do I? You will never come in here and find me jumping into people’s airspace waving a copy of my book in their faces, will you!’

The little salesman was watching now, with the hint of a smile and having backed-up to the perfume display, and I was pretty sure that he wasn’t that keen on his workmate’s blatant selling ethics either.

‘Why do you do it?’ I demanded with my chin raised and jutting.

‘Well Madam, most people who shop are chilled and relaxed and are happy to stop and chat. They are more open to this type of selling.’

‘So, where do I fit into that theory? I said.

I think at this point he realised I wasn’t going to be ordering a new front door and that he had lost valuable ground. He decided to change tactics and appeal to my kind nature.

‘Well, we are very nice …and we are very pleasant.’

I looked at the little guy and then the tall, clever bugger and said, ‘No, he’s nice and pleasant. YOU aren’t – and you definitely need to review your attitude and sales technique!’

And I left. Fortunately, the trolley that only steered to the right, was taken by surprise at my sudden exit and veered horribly and hit him on the knee.

You see, it wasn’t that they were selling windows in Morrison’s, it was that they were forcing themselves on people – and that should not be allowed in my opinion. I have a problem with pushy, in-my-face people – and I am a Scorpio. Creep up on us, or stand in our way, and you’ll receive a quick stab of our tails. We will be guided, but we won’t be herded.

At all other times, I’m a pussy cat …possibly?

Take care my lovelies x015

 
21 Comments

Posted by on October 21, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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A Milestone …A Witch …And Food Poisoning?

Hi All

I have just been informed by WordPress that I have reached another milestone – two years blogging.

First, I am impressed that I had two-year’s worth of words in me. Second, I’m surprised that anyone has wanted to read them. And third, I wonder just how many more words I would have had – if thousands of them had not exited into the ether, after disappearing from the page? I think I’ve improved since then and learnt mostly how not to do that. I’m still struggling with the wrong picture appearing, though. Instead of a picture relevant to the post, I seem to have my book covers everywhere.

This annoys me more than you will ever know. I get sick of seeing them and so I know that you must too. However, as I say, I haven’t figured this out yet and so, for now, I have to go with the flow.

I guess, if I think about it, and knowing how ditsy I am, I should be grateful that anything leaves this page intentionally. But ditsy kinda works for me …somehow.

I’m childish too.

I saw a witch in the cheapo shop the other week. Not a real witch, obviously, although some of the people around here are a bit suspect. No, a full-length floaty witch, and I had to have her – no, I mean, I really had to have her. My original thought was to keep her a secret until Halloween and then to hang her outside the kitchen patio doors, under the dry, porch-type area, and scare the proverbial out of Richard – he’s been very irritating just lately and so I considered he deserved it. Unfortunately, my impatient nature reared its ugly head and I had to ‘hang’ her immediately.

Richard came home and I instantly showed him my witch and said, ‘I was going to keep her until Halloween and then hang her up secretly and scare the shit out of you.’

He looked her up and down and remarked, ‘I’d probably be speaking to it for ten minutes before I realised it wasn’t you.’

Now, I ask you, is that Kind?

I’m getting my own back.

This morning I had a clean out of the ‘dry’ cupboard. Flour, fruit etc. and decided to whack it all into two Christmas cakes. It all went swimmingly until I came across a full, unopened bag of ground almonds. It seemed like a waste to only use half, seeing as how I was trying to use up all the odds and sods, so I tipped the whole bag in. I thought it quite weird that there was no ‘almond’ aroma wafting upwards, so I stuck my finger in and tried them. They tasted like sawdust – or how I thought sawdust might taste? When I checked the sell-by date it said May 2012.

Now, I have always been of the opinion that it isn’t the cockups you make in life that matter, but how you get out of them, so I added a bottle of almond essence. It did the trick. An eye-watering almond aroma flooded the kitchen and even made Chea blink. I then bunged in a glass full of sherry. Alcohol kills everything, doesn’t it?

Anyway, I probably won’t eat Christmas cake this year …but Richard will. Serves him right for the unkind witch comment.

I’ve just noticed that I’ve spilt flour on the floor so I’ll pop off now and give it a quick waft-over with my broom …

Take care my lovelies x2014-10-14 07.41.03

 

 
14 Comments

Posted by on October 16, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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My Very Own John Wayne? Hopefully Not!

Hi All

Well, it’s been a little while since I raised the old bonce above the parapet, but that doesn’t mean I’ve been doing nothing. In fact, I’ve been so busy that I just haven’t had the time to raise my head.

Obviously, a great part of my time has been wasted on trying to sort out my laptop that suddenly decided it wasn’t going to link to anything to do with the internet, and the old Dell had to be sourced from the drawer and kick-started into life.

The sweet little thing loved it, doing its best to link to everything and anything within a mere matter of ages! It battled along beautifully and I promised it faithfully that I would show total commitment to it and never again shove it back into the dark scary drawer. Then, one morning, the old rush of blood to the head occurred and I uninstalled Dropbox on the super-duper non-working laptop and hey presto…it worked. So, I quietly closed down poor Dell and …yeah, shoved it back into the drawer. I’m so fickle. But, you see, I can’t keep raiding the fridge and making tea while I wait ten minutes each time for old Dell boy to link to Facebook or Twitter or whatever, can I?

Also (drum roll) I’ve finished the next novel, Witch Ever Way You Look At It (that’s not a typo by the way) and yesterday shipped it off to my editor. ‘My editor’ Whooo hoo. Yes, I’ve decided that it’s time I went about this properly and have someone struggle through all my unnecessary dots, dashes and ellipses. I love them, like special little furry friends, but I know I use too many so…it’s time for the cull, I fear.

Also, I’ve become involved in a real love of mine, albeit a love that I haven’t experienced for some years. I have become involved as the font of all knowledge in the process of pony buying, pony handling and pony this and that, for two very dear friends Lauren and Ash. Of course, this has caused ripples of interest in Richard’s brain, and last night I caught him looking at ‘Horses for Sale in Leicestershire.’ I’ve told him that he would need a carthorse and I’ve stressed the pitfalls – and they haven’t included the actual falls. Can you imagine the damage when six-foot-two-ish Richard hits the ground from something as tall a giraffe? It would take me bloody ages to fill in the hole made in the ménage! He thinks, just because he can feed the pony (Flo) with an apple from the palm of his hand he can become the next John Wayne. Frankly, I think he’s just fantasising about the black leather boots and swishy riding whip, hardly a sound reason to lash-out a few grand on an elephant-sized equine!

And then there is the garden! Wow, what a little beauty that has been this year. Masses and masses of produce. The cupboards are bursting with jam and chutney. Thankfully, everything is coming to the end of production…except for the sodding runner beans. They breed overnight, under the cover of darkness, and come the morning they are dangling there with smiles on their faces. Richard has almost turned green with all the beans that I’ve forced him to eat. ‘Eat your runner beans and then you can have pudding,’ is the constant promise made from yours truly. Obviously, I’m lying because he’s on a diet and pudding isn’t allowed. And don’t go feeling sorry for him (especially you, Malla) because if he’s going to buy a carthorse and learn how to ride it he will need to shed a few extra pounds. Even a carthorse can only take so much!

The chucks are in chuck heaven, because now that the soft fruits and chicken-chomping stuff is no longer growing I have allowed them up into the veggie plot and they spend hours scratching through the fallen leaves, looking for, and finding, insects and bugs. And this gives me immense pleasure, not the annihilation of the bugs, but watching the chucks, happily foraging with the autumn sunshine on their backs.

And……I’ve started bread making! Yesterday’s first attempt was crap. Utter crap. Looked brilliant. Could barely get the Kitchen Devil knife through it, and the bit of crust I threw out for the birds grounded the poor things. Today I was determined to do better, and, as I type, a loaf is rising. However, ten minutes after I’d put it to rise I realised that I hadn’t put enough yeast in it so out it came and in went more yeast. So that looks like another shit attempt. But have no fear, I WILL make a success of this, or die trying.

And right on cue the little timer thingy is ringing (and I’m even using a timer) so off I trot to knock it back. See, I already have the terminology! Cool.

Take care my lovelies x2014-08-30 10.11.10

 

 
14 Comments

Posted by on October 2, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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Just When You Think You Know Someone… You Realise You Don’t!

Hi All

You know how they say that you can live with someone for a lifetime and still not really know them? Well, obviously I haven’t lived with Richard for a lifetime, but I do think that I know him, which is hardly fair because there is no way he knows me…at least, not the part of me that constantly confuses and surprises him.

The latest ‘thought I knew him but obviously do not’ episode happened last week.

I was happily causing mayhem on the internet and a text arrived. It said that my order would be with me in two hours, which was weird because I hadn’t ordered anything, other than that nice Mark Harmon from NCIS and, being a realist, I knew the chances of him being delivered were slim. So I forwarded the text to Richard and received no reply. Considering that this was a mistake on the carriers part I cleared off to Morrison’s to buy some bleach for the loo.

On the way out of Morrison’s I spied a little man sitting at a table collecting for something or other. He looked nice so I dropped a pound in his lap. He said, ‘Thank you,’ followed by, ‘Can I interest you in signing up for organ donation?’ My first thought was that he was asking for my old piano, which in itself was weird because I don’t have a piano, old or new. When it twigged that what he was actually requesting was my offal, I laughed.

‘Don’t think any living skin cell on this body will be of any use to anyone,’ I said, smiling my best smile.

‘You don’t smoke and you don’t drink,’ he said, running his eyes up and down my body.

‘How do you know that!’ I screeched. ‘Are you psychic?

‘I know,’ he said, mysteriously. ‘I can tell by looking at you, so there will be a lot that they can use from your body.’

He then went on to convince me that I’m wonderful and that even the parts I thought were worn-out and buggered for all time would be of use to someone.

Anyway, I’m digressing. I trotted out of Morrison’s totally rejuvenated and clutching the organ donation form in my perfect hand.

I haven’t signed it yet. It’s one of those things that once you’ve thought about it you really should give it serious consideration, and I will. Richard has carried a donor card since the day I met him, 23/24 years ago – not that much of him will be of use to anyone. Except maybe his heart. He has the kindest heart and anyone would be privileged to receive it.

Blimey.

Right, when I got home there was a scrap of paper saying that the parcel had been returned from whence it came as no one was here.

Richard later admitted that yes he had ordered something and he would rearrange for it to be delivered.

The next day I saw a note pinned to the front door advising the delivery to be left in the porch, so as not to interrupt me and my busy schedule (????). At some point in the morning the package must have been delivered because when he came home from work he walked in carrying it.

‘What’s that?’ I said, shaking my head and fearing the answer. You see, Richard sits scanning eBay in the evenings and he can’t stop his grubby little finger from twitching over the ‘buy’ button and things are forever dropping through the letterbox, or the postie is standing there leaning on the doorbell, laden down with Richard’s latest ‘need’.

He set about opening the box and pulled out a….wait for it…. banjo!

Yep, a sodding banjo.

‘What the **** have you bought THAT for?’ I shrieked, not holding back on the expletive. This was definitely a more serious purchase than a sticker for the Land Rover.

‘Because I’ve always wanted one,’ he said, grinning, running his hand lovingly over the stupid thing.

‘What do you mean, “You’ve always wanted one” I’ve never heard you mention you’ve always wanted one in the twenty-three years that I’ve known you. You can’t play a triangle and you’re tone deaf.’

‘Well I have,’ he said, obstinately, continuing his loving caresses.

‘You can’t even play it!’

‘I’m going to learn,’ he said.

‘How?’ I said.

‘From the internet.’

‘The internet!’ I bellowed.

‘Yeah, You Tube.’

I had to turn my attention back to NCIS, but before I did I said, ‘You’re not playing that thing in the house.’

‘Don’t intend to,’ he said. ‘I’m playing it in my shed.’

Yeah well, good luck with that. But then, thinking about it, why not? He has a wood burner in there and a large leather sofa and a TV and a radio and wine (maturing in the corner) so he may well disappear into there at the start of autumn and not be seen again until the spring. Much like a grizzly. Suppose I may have to supply him with the odd casserole and crust of bread…but small price to pay for not having my ears subjected to the sound of a million wailing cats.

So, this is the point. You never really know someone. Richard has been hiding the fact that he wants to turn into a banjo-playing hickory-hollow-guy for a very long time, which is really strange because the guy can’t hide anything. He is as readable as a large print book.

I know what has started this. He thinks I don’t, but I do. He tracked down a very old film recently and they do that ‘duelling banjos’ thingy. He likes it. It offends my ears. But anyway, that’s that. The banjo has been taken to work today for an expert to ‘tune it,’ and then it’s off to the shed and away he goes.

I kid you not, my dears, it will be back on eBay by the end of the year!

Take care my lovelies x015

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
18 Comments

Posted by on September 17, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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Wasn’t Really Going For The Princess Fiona Look!

Hi All

Being a mainly happy dude, and pretty much a positive human being, it grates with me when I wake up grumpy – no, I don’t mean Richard, as you very well know.

We all have days like that, don’t we? You wake up feeling a bit grumpy and then the first thing on your agenda goes wrong and it sets the day’s tone.

Some time ago Richard convinced me that I needed a new iPod and Bose Bluetooth speaker. I won’t bore you with the details of his argument and although I agreed, in theory, the little voice in my head said that this was a dumb idea and a waste of money.

Over the years I have learnt to listen to that little voice. At first I thought I was merely hearing voices, as you do, as it seemed like a natural conclusion, but then I began to realise that the little voice was sent from my gut and it was purely gut instinct. Anything that wakes that little voice is usually a bad idea.

Back to the Bose speaker and iPod. After having given the speaker a long spell in a drawer because it had peed me off the last time I’d attempted to use it and couldn’t connect it, I decided to have another bash. Obviously it was as flat as a pancake and so I allowed it time to charge – and I gave the iPod a top-up as well. When the thing was charged I did what you need to do to pair the devices. One hour later, I gave up and threw the thing back in the drawer. This was the cause of my bad-day beginning. One hour of my life spent on that crap!

The day did get better.

This morning I set about doing the ‘accounts.’ Sounds grand, but it is simply a matter of reconciling money ‘ins’ and ‘outs.’ Having binned the speaker yesterday, I was using the iPod with earphones. Chea was on the chair at the side of me and she was still sleeping so I didn’t want to wake the dear soul by ‘going large’ with the din – although, she has shown a liking for Pink on full volume! Absently scrolling through the playlist and sucking the end of the Paper Mate, green-gel pen, I was surprised when something warm flowed into my mouth. Removing the pen, I stared horrified at green ink trickling out of it and onto the table. It took me twenty minutes and half a tube of toothpaste to remove the ink from my mouth and tongue – and my chin is still green where the ink had trickled out of my mouth before I could make it to the bathroom. How the hell do they get that much ink in a pen?

So, I’m hoping that like yesterday the day will get better. I’m considering suing Pape Mate. I mean, I didn’t see any warning saying ‘do not suck.’ There were more warnings on the bottle of cough medicine I bought last week – apparently that was going to confuse me and cause disorientation. Fortunately, I wouldn’t notice those side effects, they would blend, and damn easier than this green ink.

Richard now has ‘my’ cold but the brave man has plodded off to work this morning. He had a mini meltdown last Saturday, when, with my snotty cold and deafening cough, he spied me in the garden – digging.

‘You must be feeling better, then!’ he announced over the runner beans. ‘If you are digging the garden.’

‘I wouldn’t say I’m feeling better, Richard,’ I said. ‘But what do you expect me to do? Just sit down and do sod all?’

‘Well, I thought we might go out today to look at properties, and then you got up and appeared too ill, and yet here you are gardening – so you must be feeling better.’ he said sulkily, sounding genuinely disappointed that I wasn’t actually dying and too ill to stand up straight.

I slammed the spade into the ground, which really hurt my throbbing head, and turned to him.

‘Well I’m sorry to disappoint you, Richard. I mean, I’m sorry that I might appear well enough to walk into the garden and dig up a dandelion! I’ll try to have a relapse if it will help…perhaps pneumonia? Would that please you?’

He grumbled something about me being silly and that he didn’t mean that, and then cleared off, to reappear ten minutes later with a mug of tea for me and coffee for his mardy self.

I do see his point, but I literally have to be ‘off my legs’ with something before I give up and in to it.

The irony of this is, another weekend is here, and now dear Richard has ‘my’ cold. See? It’s ‘my’ cold, and I have given it to him. Well that shows what a kind and sharing human being I am. So, I’m now waiting to see if we go gallivanting looking at properties this Saturday, or if he takes to his sickbed. I know which my money is on – after all, he is a man! Though, in fairness, he is a brave little soldier when he wants to be.

Mind, I’ll have to get rid of this green chin before I can be seen out in public looking like Princess Fiona!download (1)

Take care my lovelies x

 
12 Comments

Posted by on September 5, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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Never Stop Topping-Up The Memory Jar…

Hi All

I guess when you get to a certain age your ‘memory’ jar is pretty full, but surprisingly that jar can always accommodate more, and that’s what I’ve been doing over the last ten days – topping up the memory jar.

We attended a wedding in Cornwall ten days ago and the greatest memory retained from this was the memory of laughter. It never stopped. Put the right people together and it’s a done deal. The down-side to this is just how much my ribs ached afterwards, and still do.

I have always had a strong bond with my cousin, Dawn, and when the two of us are together we find the whole world hilarious. And when we can’t laugh at the world we laugh at ourselves. One incident will remain at the top of my memory jar for a long time. If you don’t like toilet humour then read no further.

Yep, thought so, you’re still reading!

During the reception I needed to leave the hotel and go back to the car to find some flatter shoes. Everyone else seemed to manage on heels (that doesn’t include Richard, obviously) but I couldn’t, and each time I stepped on the grass my heels sunk in and my feet left my shoes behind, which for some reason I found hilarious, but then I’ll laugh at pretty much anything. As we left the hotel, Dawn turned to me and discreetly mumbled, ‘I need a trump.’

I was bloody surprised because I’ve known her for a while and to date she has never shared this sensitive kind of info’ with me. I was looking understandably astounded as we pushed through the door, leading out onto the beautifully landscaped gardens, when Dawn turned to me and announced, ‘I’ve trumped!’

I turned to her, requiring clarification, and said, ‘You’ve trumped?’

Suddenly she wasn’t there. Her legs buckled and she collapsed in a heap on the gravel. One of her shoes winged away into the bushes and she was prostrate on the ground. I (we) laughed so hard that I did exactly the same thing…but without the falling over bit. Her tights were torn and her knee was bleeding – which made us howl – and she couldn’t get up – which made it even funnier.10579222_10204828446254830_587700490_n

Eventually I managed to get her on her feet and we cackled our way to the car, doubled over and hysterical. I’ll tell you something – I have no idea how she managed to pass wind so privately and yet it still managed to blow her off her feet.

Richard came looking for us at one point but he never found us. He said he could hear us hysterically guffawing in the bushes but he couldn’t find the right bush. I don’t think there’s an answer to that?

I must add that at this point neither of us had been on the falling down water. Seemed Dawn didn’t need it.

Another memory was founded at the weekend when Jake and Grace (grand kiddies) came over for the day.  We trotted off down the road and into the fields at the back of the house, where there are dozens of blackberry brambles with ripe, ready-to-pick fruit. They each had a bowl and Grace (3) picked the lower berries and Jake (7) picked the higher. I picked fruit at the next level up and we sent Richard into the brambles to get those that none of us could reach. The sun was shining and all was well with the world. At one point I stood back and watched them, chatting away excitedly about picking as many as they could so that we could make jam. Jake instructing Grace, ‘You need MORE than that, doesn’t she Grandma?’ They were totally absorbed and there wasn’t a PC game or the equivalent in sight. Everything was free – and fun. I shall hold the memory of little blackberry-stained fingers and mouths for many years – possibly always.2014-08-25 12.04.41

Some memories remain when you wish that they wouldn’t. Last night I was tapping away on the old laptop talking to my friend Deb McEwan, (If you fancy reading something poles apart from what I write take a look at Deb’s books…http://www.debbiemcewansbooks.com/) when there was an almighty thud behind me. It sounded like Richard had thrown the sofa across the room.

‘What the eff was that?’ I yelled. (Ladylike as ever, hey?)

Silence.

‘Richard!’

More silence.

‘Richard!’

‘Me,’ he whimpered.

Amazing how such a big bloke can have such a tiny whimper when he’s in the wrong.

‘I tripped…I’ve spilt my wine.’

‘Well you hadn’t better have spilt it on my rug?’ I warned, still tapping away on the PC.

‘I’ve spilt it everywhere,’ he announced, sounding rather too brave and proud of the fact for my liking.

‘What?’ I bellowed, getting up from the computer to discover that the wine he had been carrying was now all up my recently purchased curtains, the wall, the rug, the floorboards and the French doors – and it was his homemade red wine at that!

‘Why are you so bloody stupid?’ I bawled, pointlessly, because I know why he’s so bloody stupid. He practises being stupid on an hourly basis.

‘I got my foot stuck in my trouser hem and tripped,’ he said.

‘Why are you walking around with a glass of wine in your hand anyway?’ I was still shouting, which wasn’t doing my recently acquired sore throat much good. In fact, I truly believe that the sore throat is a leftover from all that laughing at Dawn, a week ago.

‘I was coming to wash the pots,’ he said’

‘WITH A GLASS OF WINE IN YOUR HAND?’

Needless to say, it was me who had to swab the bloody curtains. I’ve told him if they stain he can go and buy some more.

So, another memory.

Well, it takes all kinds, hey?

Take care my lovelies x

 

 

 
17 Comments

Posted by on August 28, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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If They Could See Me Now That Little Gang Of Mine…

Hi All

There have been many occasions, and times during my life, when I have been reminded of those lyrics from Sweet Charity…if they could see me now that little gang of mine, and as I write this I am once again reminded of them. Because if you could see me now you would probably crack-up.

No, I’m not wearing a wet tea towel around my mush while I avoid the migraine-triggering, vinegar smell boiling-up from the chutney, as in the last blog, I am wearing my hair differently and I resemble a curly-whirly. There is a reason and I will tell you, well, you always knew I was going to, didn’t you? Otherwise why would I mention it?

I am going to a wedding. Not my own, because I am too weird for Richard to want to marry me now. He used to want too, and asked me at least three times a week. My answer was always the same…no! I am going to my nephews wedding, in Cornwall. Because I am a troglodyte-type person – happier in compost than Chanel – I spend on average, three minutes a day on my hair. A hand pushed through each side in turn and an applied bobble, pony-tailing it, is as good as it gets. However…

I decided that it was time I tried something a bit different and make a bit of an effort. Why? Lord knows. It seemed like a good idea when the thought leapt into my brain, and so I made an appointment with my lovely hairstylist, Emma.

Emma has known me for some time now and is well aware of my little idiosyncrasies. My fringe must never fall out with my eyebrows. My ears must not be lower than my hair, and one or two other little quirky things that I’d really rather not mention. It was a practice run. We were going to curl my locks and try a few styles. As Emma neatly and professionally curled each segment of hair I sat watching. When every hair was corkscrewed she asked, ‘What do you think of it so far?’

What did I think of it so far? I cracked up, snorting and giggling. All I could see before me was one of those Judge-type dudes, sitting behind a mahogany desk, with the curly wig. After thirty seconds I spluttered, ‘I feel like I should be placing a black cap on my head and giving out the death sentence!’ I couldn’t remove the image and was relieved when Emma ran her hand through my hair and I lost my Judge-locks.

Several styles were applied and Emma took pics’ of them, because my dear cousin, Dawn, is going to have to copy the one of choice (she doesn’t know that yet)…and NO I am not putting a pic’ on here. I may be stupid but I’m not mad.

Anyway, when Richard walked in from work I was dishing up the salmon, courgettes (God more courgettes) the new potatoes and runner beans (God even more runner beans) and I remarked, ‘I’ve had my hair curled.’ You might think this strange…that a grown man needs  telling that my hair has changed from a pony tail to something out of Dynasty, but without me mentioning it he wouldn’t have noticed. And for two reasons.

One, when food is in the trough, Richard has tunnel vision and I wouldn’t even be in sight, and two – he never notices anything – unless it involves the car, motorbike or Land Rover.

‘I like it,’ he said.

I swear he is trying to kill me with surprise.

‘But the wedding is seven days away, won’t it be straight by Monday?’

As I live and breathe.

So, here I sit, typing away with my curly-whirly locks bouncing away like Medusa’s spitting snakes, and if Richard knows what’s good for him he will curb the comments or he could be turned to stone.

I fear that whilst I’m away my garden will resort back to a wilderness. The runner beans are already attempting to grab onto the lower birch tree branches, and the huge courgettes are lying around like alien space pods.

I did manage to make the jam that I said I wanted to make. All that remains now to make is the tomato chutney. They are starting to turn, so hopefully they will be ready for picking when I get back and then it’ll be back to the wet towel and my Dick Turpin impression….although, to be honest, I can’t keep Adam Ant from my mind’s eye singing, Stand and deliver …your money or your life!

Take care my lovelies x2014-08-09 18.08.40

 
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Posted by on August 13, 2014 in Uncategorized

 
 
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