Wednesday, July 25, 2012

The Insanity of Vanity

Apparently, some women have been reported as spending seventy dollars on sparkly green nail varnish which is the current fashion rage.

Don't these women know you can get the same effect with PVA glue and a tube of green glitter? And, if you buy a job lot on the kid's glitter, you can also have sparkly blue, red and gold nails.

 How cool is that?

Today, I will be mixing up all my glitter tubes for a multi-coloured glitter effect at the total cost of about ten pence. I like to consider myself a trend setter, you know.

Now just to enhance this piece of vital news I was going to insert a video of the infamous nail varnish from You Tube. However, I like to view videos before I use them and on seeing all the relevant videos were horrendously long (like 7- 10 minutes or so) I quickly came to the conclusion I would rather poke myself in the eye than waste ten minutes of my life. I then saw a video for about 2 minutes, debated whether or not to view it for about 0.000000000002 of a second but again chose the sharp stick in the eye. Life is too short and I'd rather waste it writing drivel on my blog.

Finally, for any of my friends reading this post, I do not want any glue, glitter or nail polish for Christmas. But I will accept tickets to the West End, dinner for two at the Ritz or a small island off the Caribbean.

Friday, July 20, 2012

It's the Holidays!

Notice that exclamation mark, Readers. They're cunning little things aren't they? You put one of those on the end of a sentence and it changes the whole meaning. Now if you look at the title above it kinda looks like I'm really happy and cheerful that the school holidays start at 12.35pm today. Precisely at 12.35pm. And not a minute before.

However, if I'd written;

It's the Holidays

You may have thought it was a pure statement - or even perhaps that poor Mrs T has wrapped a large coil of rope around the branch of a nearby tree and is straining her neck towards the sky.

You would be correct on the last assumption.

Oh the sweet joy of the school holidays.

God, I love irony. 

So over the next six weeks I will be doing my best to persuade my boys that; 

a) Haircuts really are a good idea.

b) They really do need a new pair of school shoes.

c) If just once during the day over the entire six weeks they could not urinate over the toilet seat I will die a happy woman.

So other than that exciting news (other than I haven't been strangled by Japanese Knotweed) is I am still alive. I am still writing - working on my new novel which is going from madcap to blatant lunacy and also tampering with my Winnie the Pooh story which (and you may have guessed this) has gone from madcap to blatant lunacy. Ah well. One can but pray for moments of literary genius.

On a completely different note, I read in the Daily Mail this morning that women on the pull ( that's a tawdry UK expression which means "looking for a man to bed" and usually applies to young women who overdose on high energy drinks and live north of Manchester) choose ugly friends so they look more attractive to men. Now as I live Down South I can't comment (too much) about all of my fair sisters but I would just like say I don't believe that at all. I have personally never selected a friend on the basis of their looks just to make me look better. There are only two kinds of women who do this a) who live North of the Border and have overdosed on high energy drinks and b) Samantha Brick. 

You know, they say those Olympic Villages are a hot bed of sex and hormones. I wonder who the female beach volleyball players take out on the pull with them? My guess is it's the East European shot putters. Not because they are ugly or look like they've had a testosterone jab but if the volleyball ladies have the misfortune to overdose on high energy drinks they'll always be someone to carry them home.

Those shot-putt ladies have seriously big muscles. I'd like to have big muscles too - in fact I'd like to have any muscles but that's another story - Let's just say I'm fighting the battle of the bulge at the moment. And losing. However, I did write to Sebastian Coe and asked him if he could introduce a new Olympic event - The Wobblethon. He turned me down. What a rotter. I reckon I was a dead cert for a Gold. I was also a bit disappointed not to have gone on a date with a Russian shot-putter. It would be a toss up which one of would have pulled Usain Bolt but I reckon I may have edged ahead by a slim margin.

The Olympics and the school holidays? Life is perfect!

Ho hum.


Wednesday, July 4, 2012

Not In My Back Garden

Yesterday I pulled up my drive at 5pm. This is quite a busy time of day for me. This is the time when I am either coming in from afternoon tennis, going out to tennis or refilling the Young Masters stomachs in-between tennis. Yesterday it was the refilling the Young Masters' stomachs. So anyway one of my relatives (I hasten to add on my husband's side) turns up to collect some eggs but clearly also has the intention of telling me some very important news.

We are in the kitchen. I am making the obligatory cup of tea that I do on all social occasions. (Unless it's coffee obviously.)

"Have you heard?" says my relative in a flat, monotone voice and a face of deep gravitas.

"Oh yes," I say, thinking she is referring to something else. "Mr T told me several days ago."

"No... have you heard what I found in the back garden?" she says.

This time her face is so serious, her voice so dramatically full of tension that for a moment I am literally stuck for words (which is rare for me as you know) as a variety of almost impossible scenarios flicker through my mind.

My relative waits patiently -clearly the discovery is so impressive that I must guess it. I am now at a total loss at what awesome/gruesome discovery has been made in her garden in Yorkshire.

"A dead body?" I say, thinking that this must be obvious solution to accord this amount of gravity.

"No," replies my relative.

"Dead bodies?" I say, as by now only mass murder is sounding dramatic enough. "You've found dead bodies in the old well?"

"No," says my relative.

There's a long pause whilst I think over what can be more dramatic than dead bodies. For a moment I consider a huge treasure chest of gold coins from the Spanish Armada but then realise that there's not a lot of chance they would have washed up on the top of a hill in deepest Yorkshire.

I stare at my relative. My face must look completely blank as I can't think of anything more dramatic than a dead body.

Unless...

It's the dead body of a famous person. 

Who could it be?

Bob Diamond? (Yeah, I can see that one....I might even have helped out if asked.)

Samantha Brick? (Has quite a nice feel to it somehow.)

Tony Robinson? ( A certain irony to it.)

Or... worst of all...


Oh Dear God, I think. What if the Scientologists have finally caught up with poor Katie and dispensed with her in my relative's back garden? Who would expect to find Katie in a well in Yorkshire? It wouldn't be the  first place to look...

Anyway, my face is still blank while I am quietly dreaming through my gruesome scenarios. Finally my relative can no longer stand the tension and blurts out her dramatic news:

"I found Japanese knotweed!"

"Japanese knotweed?" I reply, somewhat confused.

"Yes, Japanese knotweed!"

"Not a dead body in the well then?" 

"No. Japanese Knotweed!!!"

So the exciting news is then, Dear Readers, that my relative found some Japanese knotweed. It's a plant by the way. You find it - in lots of places. All over the world. Sometimes even in gardens. Amazing.

Anyway, today I am going to ring the church bells and wind up the old air raid siren. The human race in grave danger. Think Day of the Triffids, War of the Worlds or just Total Apocalyptic Scenario...

And, unfortunately, Bob Diamond, Samantha Brick, Tony Robinson and Katie Holmes are (as far as I'm aware) still alive.

Ugh. How boring is that? Although I am quite pleased for Katie actually. No so fussed about the others obviously.

You know, some days it's a dull news day, especially when you live in the village. And even more so your relative is barking mad. (I'll diplomatically delete that line later.)