29.06.07
Don’t forget …
… to pop over to Donna’s blog and say “Happy Birthday, Youngster!” to her!
25.06.07
The strangest thing …
For some time now, I’ve been noticing that my over-the-shoulder-boulder-holders have been getting right on my nerves, so on Saturday I did an Unusually Girly Thing and went off to see a nice lady in Marks & Spencer to Get Properly Measured.
You should have seen my face.
“I’m a 36B”, I announced authoritatively to the Nice Lady.
She took one look.
“You’re not“, said she, much more authoritatively.
Measurements were taken.
I am now in possession of three new bras, all bearing the label “34D” … and they FIT me!
Honestly, if you’re reading this and are in possession of bazongas, go get ‘em measured. It’s life-changing!
15.06.07
More Good Karma
Decided I’d share a few thoughts, in part sparked off by a conversation with a friend on Monday night, wherein she confessed her adoration for a Young Man.
“He keeps saying I’d get on with his mate. He’s trying to pass me on to his mate!”
Hmm, say I. Maybe - just maybe - he likes you so much he wants you to meet and like his friends, too …?
“Ooooo. I never thought of that …”
I rest my case. Most people spend their time not getting together with their Desired Person (”DP”) largely because they’re too busy wondering about all the “ifs”.
So, in a spirit of goodwill, I’m going to tell you exactly how to grab your DP (in a way that doesn’t make you look foolish). It’s straightforward enough. Choose your moment carefully (at that point when you’ve both been quiet for a few minutes, but just before it gets awkward). And then look the DP right in the eyes and say:
“What do you think?”
Most people will reply:
“About what?”
“Everything.”
That’s what you say. Stress it as you wish (if you’re under 25, you’ll more than likely place a question mark at the end, but that’s the youth of today for you. No class*).
Naturally, not everyone will respond with the classic : “About what?”. If they’re of an ungrammatical turn, they’ll say: “What about?”. If they’re To Be Avoided, they’ll say: “What you on about, weirdo?”. If they say: “I’m not quite sure”, you have in your grasp a DP who bears closer examination. And if the reply is: “I think it’s all bloody wonderful”, then grab that DP and never let them go!
There are some people out there whose desired response from the DP would be: “A huge disappointment, really …”. You know who you are, and don’t come crying to me when you get what you want and don’t like it.
A note for the record: only use the above technique if you really really want to know what the DP thinks about everything. If you simply want to shag the DP until his or her ears fall off (copyright whoever scripted “The Tall Guy”, a bloody good film starring the gorgeous Jeff Goldblum and the equally gorgeous Emma Thompson) but don’t care in the slightest what’s between said ears, then Plan B should be put into operation.
Same thing as before - wait for the correct kind of silence, then:
“How about it?”
See how easy it is? That Claire Rayner, she ain’t got nuffin’ on me …
*I’ve been a Grumpy Old Woman** since I was about four years old. Wanna make something of it?!
** Actually, I’m rarely grumpy (mornings don’t count). I’m just a terrible nostalgic. I get nostalgic for places I’ve never been and times I’ve never lived in. The past is so interesting because you can never have all the facts, just subjective stories. Sorry. Two-thirds of a cheap bottle of red, and I’m trouble with a keyboard/pen …
Be good.
14.06.07
Good “Kar”ma …
In honour of the second series of “My Name Is Earl” starting tonight, I did a Good Thing today. The Chinese kid who drove into my Saab gave me, on the basis of a quote, £650 last week. Car now fixed, and my nice mechanic managed to fix it for £400. He offered to give me a receipt for £650. I said no, and will give my oriental pal £250 back.
Maybe he can use it for extra driving lessons …
13.06.07
So, IS “anally-retentive” hyphenated?
Since our condenser dryer broke down in tears and horrible grinding noises a couple of weeks back, I have rediscovered the joys (well, unless it’s raining. Yes, I live in Manchester) of hanging out the washing. Cheaper, more ecologically sound, etc, etc.
I had, however, forgotten that it takes me twice as long as anyone else for one reason - the pegs have to match each other*. If there’s a red peg on one end of a T-shirt, there has to be a matching red peg at the other end.
There’s probably therapy, or something.
*The pegs don’t have to match the actual clothes, of course. Firstly, that would be (cough) weird and, secondly, I don’t think they make black pegs.
12.06.07
And in further news …
Jack Smith, referred to in my previous post, has a MySpace page here - have a listen!
11.06.07
Och aye, the news …
A little late in appearing, here’s what we did on our holidays, photos of which can be found here …
Got to Dumfries on Friday evening and were filled instantly with food by S’s mum (who tells S. he has put on weight whilst simultaneously offering him a selection of cakes and biccies). This happens whenever we see her and is not unusual. Slept like a whole forest, woke up to warm and unexpected sunshine, moseyed into town. I raided several charity shops, we dropped into the charming and slightly weird Bridge House Museum, failed to make it to the Camera Obscura, met some friendly pooches, and then got a lift back to the ranch for more food. S’s sister had arrived, so we caught up on gossip, gasped at the lively little hailstorm which engulfed Dumfries, watched Dr Who, ate more food and then girded our loins for an evening out with S’s mate Tracey and her partner, Jack - who turns out to be a bloody good musician, off this August to Perth to study sound engineering, lucky chap. We drank copious amounts of alcohol, visited Robert Burns’ room at The Globe and staggered back to Tracey’s flat, where Tracey presented me with a rather gorgeous leather jacket (hope she didn’t wake up the next afternoon regretting this!), drank more, and then got a taxi. Eventually. After getting lost on the way from the flat to the outside world. Sunday was spent Sitting Down Quietly.
Monday and, loaded up with more nice food, we set off for Dunoon, taking the coast road (this could have been a mistake, as once I saw the sea - The Sea! - I became less attentive to the road ahead than I should have been. But - The Sea! Real sea, not just sewage at Blackpool!). Jumped on a Western Ferry, hit Dunoon, and fell onto R’s comfy futon while more catching up was done. Later, we explored Dunoon and its many wonderful hardware shops (one of which was called, delightfully, “Dae It Yersel’”) and found a nice restaurant which served Genuine Italian Tapas. Hmmm. Anyway, it was all very yummy. Back to R’s, more wine, and another day of Sitting Quietly Frowning at Crosswords was all we managed on Tuesday …
Wednesday, off to Glasgow for a nostalgia-fest with S. - went on the Clockwork Orange (aka the Underground), had a guided tour of the haunts of S’s misspent studenthood, met up with S’s aunt (who, the lucky devil, lives in one of the gorgeous sandstone tenements of the West End) and got a look around the Botanic Gardens and the recently refurbished Kibble Palace. Bliss! Chips for tea, then back to Dunoon for R’s yummy French onion soup. And more wine …
Thursday, and for the first time all week there was a little wind, so R. decided it was worth trying for a sail in “Kara”, a 30ft yacht moored at Holy Loch. And this was the best fun I’ve had in years, not to mention possibly the most peaceful and restorative day I’ve ever experienced, even bearing in mind S’s loud complaints about the lack of pirate hats …! I was occasionally left in charge of the tiller (probably an error, since I get confused by left and right, let alone port and starboard), while S. and R. did things with sails. We goosewinged (goosewung?)! We saw sixteen different types of weather in as many minutes, drifted in absolute silence (unusual, for us three!), met up with R’s bro., went beachcombing, got wet feet, and generally had a proper day messing about in a boat. (I was tempted to cling to the side, barnacle-fashion, and refuse to return to dry land, but my feet were still damp and I wanted a ciggy, so … ).
Back home; more good food, wine (and a traditional tot of rum!), conversation and cryptic crosswords, and then it was suddenly Friday and the noise, dirt, and emergency sirens of Manchester beckoned once more. Boo and hiss. Wanna live in Dunoon (where people actually smile at you, unbidden) and wanna live there NOW! Hmph. Still, it was good to see the pusscats again - fat as pigs, thanks to Auntie Donna over at Reservoir Mogs!
I also: failed pitifully to learn how to say “Gonnae Nae Do That”, despite earnest tuition from R. and S.; watched several gripping Crown Green bowling matches whilst perched on R’s front steps inhaling fresh air (or possibly nicotine); saw porpoises in the Firth of Clyde; saw a car with its engine on fire; discussed the doings of Her At No. 47 With The Brass Knockers; heard a great story about a goalkeeper who got fined for building a snowman during a particularly chilly and boring match; got another pressie (a very dinky tea infuser in the shape of a tiny teapot!); collected pebbles and shells; skimmed stones; overheard a conversation in which a very nice lady said, in tones of wonder, “Do fish even have testicles?”; made friends with several Scottish cats; realised I really don’t want to live in Manchester any more.
Aren’t holidays unsettling?!
04.06.07
Hold tight!
I will post an entry about our bloody brilliant trip to Scotland, only I need time to corral my thoughts and form sentences, and having had to wade through over 2,000 emails this morning, I’m quite reluctant to stare at my screen for one minute longer. Going for a shower now, ta for asking.
PS: Scotland was brilliant! Did I say that?