Posts

Self control...

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Working with the glorious general public has its moments, as I found out while helping in my lovely friend Emma's shop.
'When you say she is 'large', do you mean like me?  I'm fairly solid looking?'  Such was the question put to a customer shopping for his wife who was casing the joint for the perfect Christmas dress.  It shouldn't have taken him long to be fair.  There are at least three dresses in the shop which are perfect for Christmas Day.  I should know, I bought all of them and quite fancy doing a Mariah Carey with costume changes between the Prosecco and the sprouts and then between the After Eights and the Alka Seltzer.  
Anyway, I digress.  Back to the man shopping for a dress. I'd given him the opportunity to say whether his wife was smaller or larger than me, but what he actually said floored me.
'Yes, she's about the same as you.  A SIZE EIGHTEEN'.
Well.  I managed to keep smiling and was terribly polite and helpful, right down to s…

Everything is one big Christmas tree...

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We are getting our Christmas tree next week...
You probably remember from previous years' diatribes that the husband has a penchant for a big one when it comes to a Norwegian spruce.  Big enough to warrant having all male children and the girls' partners on hand to lever the tree into a bucket of stones without wiping out the pictures on the walls or the downstairs loo. (One year this was inaccessible for two weeks.  Say no more).  But this year is different. 
For some unfathomable reason, the Tree Farm is insisting that we collect our tree next Thursday.  I expect that this is because when gone it will free up space for six normal trees, a five foot tall wicker reindeer, a whole shelf of Nativity scenes and a sledge (well, you never know).  But the problem is that on a Thursday afternoon, it will just be me and the husband wrestling the tree into the house.  With all of our children in gainful employment or cooped up in a university library, we are very thin on the ground where…

Confession...

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Ladies, I have a confession to make...
After eleven months, twenty seven days, twenty hours and thirty two minutes, I broke my New Year's resolution.
As you probably remember, this was the resolution not to buy myself any new clothes or shoes for the whole of 2019.  The nearer it got to the moment when I could actually go and replenish my dwindling wardrobe, the harder it got.  So hard in fact that when I was working at the lovely Emma's vintage shop last Thursday, I finally cracked.
And boy, did I crack in style...
The trouble is that ever since Emma opened her shop, I have known exactly which dresses I was going to buy as soon as Big Ben completed his New Year's Eve job of ringing in 2020.  And so, when I said those fatal words to Emma on Thursday about 'trying on the dresses just in case they don't look as fabulous as I think they are going to look' I knew that I was a lost cause.
Ten minutes later, I had three dresses, a skirt, two cardigans and a pair of shoes …

Diary...

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Well, I've done it again.
Every November, I make myself promise that I will pace myself in December and not say 'yes' to every single invite I happen to get.
We are not even in December yet, but I am already signed up for five Christmas parties, and my pocket diary looks like a spider has jumped into an inkwell and done the lambada across it.  Any empty space is rapidly being eaten up by various Christmas invites.  Throw in a couple of afternoons helping out at my gorgeous friend Emma's fab shop, some blood donation, a sneaky facial, an oven clean (long overdue as having to use a torch to see if my chicken is cooked as the lightbulb is thickly covered in gunk) and an appointment at the hospital for someone to take a look at my stupid knee, and there is little time for anything else before Christmas Day.
We have a full house this year.  My lovely sister in law and her beau are down for a week or so, and I something between sixteen and eighteen for dinner.  Naturally, we do…

Hit the road, Jack...

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I've just sat down with a cup of tea for what feels like the first time in a week.  We haven't been anywhere to speak of (except for a short jaunt into the East End, more of this later) but there has been a lot to do at home with the pending Yuletide festivities which are just a month away.
I've been cooking you see.  Now that in itself is nothing short of a miracle if you ask the husband, but he has been particularly peeved during this period of frenzied kitchen activity because every time he has come home over the last week, there has been something cooling on the worktop.  The conversations this week have nearly all gone the same way...
'Is that sausage plait you've made there?' 'Yes, but it's for Christmas'. 'But there's two there.  Surely we only need one for Christmas?' 'Cast your mind back to last year my love.  I made two which were both demolished before I managed to stuff the turkey.  So yes, we do need two and no, you can't…

She's leaving home...

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Well ladies, the big day arrived today.  After almost five years of sharing a room with Master J and Master P (so small, it's really just a cupboard with a window and a plug socket), we finally moved into a larger room across the corridor. This room is so big that I have told the boys that I will be investing in a megaphone so that I can shout very loudly across the room, 'Whose round is it?' This normally results in a mug of your finest PG being set down next to my left elbow, and I see no reason why this should stop.  At least I am nearest to the door.  I have a feeling that a large portion of Master J's coffee may have evaporated by the time he makes it to his desk at the other end of the room.  
There were some major discussions as to whether the map of the world on one of the walls could remain in situ, having been left behind by the office's previous occupants. 
'I think it should stay', said Master P, standing with his back pressed up against it in cas…

Fast car...

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Have you ever grappled with a dopey wasp in the bathroom while standing naked with a view to getting ready for work, armed with just last night's pyjamas and a spray deodorant?
So that was my Monday, how was yours?
I am a great believer in the great seesaw of life, with a bad day being thrown in every now and again as payback for several great ones.  So I am blaming the wasp (who I eventually steered out of the Velux window with the deodorant) for today as I have had a fantastic few days spent with the husband.  The highlight was going to see Le Mans '66 on Saturday afternoon.  What happened to Terminator?  Well, I have to confess that I embarked on some grade one, top drawer wheedling on the husband about this, as having sat through the first two in the series, the thought of sitting through another without having the home based options of a power nap or hanging out the washing was not my idea of fun.  
Luckily, the husband knows which side his bread is buttered, so we went to t…