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Showing posts from May, 2016

Cold as ice...

I am fed up with being cold.  The heating keeps kicking in, as the house is too cold to sustain human life, and I have reintroduced thermals to my summer wardrobe.

Every morning this week, I have cautiously opened one eye and peeked over the window sill for a quick weather check. Gone are the days when I would hang the next day's outfit in the bathroom, ready to slip on for work.  Oh no..it is only after the weather check that I decide on whether it's a thermal or flip-flop day.  Of course, some outfits can be worn whatever, so all I need to decide with these outfits is whether I can get away with wearing socks (not the best of looks with three-quarter length trousers or a skirt mind you).

Taking a look at the long term weather forecast, it would appear that we will have a dry day on July 5th, with another following on the 27th.  I am anticipating the second flood, and have set the husband to work with some chipboard and a lathe.  We're still confused as to how big a cubit…

Plant life...

Over the weekend, decisions were made.  Very important decisions, which could possibly effect the rest of this year.

You see, the husband and I have an allotment.  (For my non-British readers, this is a posh term for a patch of dirt with a few carrots growing in it).  Last year was our first attempt at growing our own vegetables, with a view to saving ourselves a bit of money, and enjoying the wonderful flavours of home-grown, organic veg.  There will be some of you, who are already in possession of an allotment, reading this with tears in their eyes at our naivety in thinking this.

Of course, the first thing you do to an allotment is make it secure, easy to manage and ready for planting.  With the chain fencing (to deter Thumper and his buddies), railway sleepers (to break the patch of mud up into bite-size pieces) and the hire of a digger for the day to turn the soil over, we were already out of pocket to the tune of £300.  That is a lot of carrots (even if you buy those expensive o…

Bermuda triangle...

There's nothing better than spending a Bank Holiday Saturday in a large shopping centre, full of ne'er-do-wells (my sister Miss R, the mother ship, Mrs Jangles and Mrs W numbers 1 and 2 to be more precise).

Milton Keynes is not one of my favourite places, I must confess. It promises so much, yet yields so little.  This is probably because I have never ventured very far from where I have left the car, terrified I will never see it again (a bit like the walk in the woods the other day). 

Miss R had offered to drive us all there in her big, posh car as she had lots of room.  It appeared that half of the population were heading the same way as us, and it was a happy moment when we saw the beautiful straight lines and right angles of Milton Keynes.

Reconnoitring at the large map in the middle of the shopping centre, we planned our day.  The mother ship and Mrs Jangles fancied a gentle meander around M&S, while us younger ladies were planning more adventurous shopping, namely Z…

Feed me...

Yesterday was the last day of freedom for Mrs B (she of the fancy waffle maker) as Saturday sees the grand opening of her café.  As she was busy making waffles with the husband and his business partner this afternoon (they were her guinea pigs - actually, having heard how many they ate, I think we can drop the 'guinea') I offered to do some running around for her to give her more time to prepare for today. 

This involved collecting and dropping off her two boys, Master J and Master O at various activities, something I haven't done for many years as all our offspring have their own transport now.  First job was to take Master O off to his drumming lesson.  Calling for him this afternoon, the front door was opened by aforementioned boy, sporting a fine set of whiskers and some sheet music. 

'Why the whiskers?' I asked

'I'm a meerkat'.

Apparently, that was enough explanation, but further interrogation revealed that a girl was responsible for this, which …

Video killed the radio star...

Yesterday morning, Miss R and I hit the airwaves of our local radio station.  I have always wondered at the sheer bravery of the DJ at welcoming us into his studio for a couple of hours every few months.  I mean, my sister and I are renowned for our ability to talk non-stop drivel (you blog readers will appreciate this I'm sure) but for some reason, Marlow FM feels that this is what its public want.  The radio station has an average 1000 pairs of ears listening at any particular time, except when we're on, when radios all over Marlow are switched off as we're introduced, or at the very best, some glazing over of the eyes happens.

My sister has been running a very regular spot on the show called 'Don't Get Me Started', which gives her a verbal soapbox to complain about everything she doesn't like or approve of in Marlow.  She has covered some quite extreme and thought provoking subjects over the years, which have set the tongues of Marlow a-wagging.  Some of…

That's amore...

Have you ever tried to get a drunk northern man and an even drunker daughter on crutches (number 1) into a Ford Ranger?  Thus ended last night's birthday celebrations.

It had been a wonderful evening, and everyone had a story to bring Nanny to the table as it were.  Most of these were unrepeatable, and all involved alcohol of some description,  but there you go, an apple never falls far from the tree...

We went to Nanny's favourite restaurant for dinner, a cosy Italian in Marlow.  Actually, the waiters look better than the food tastes, but maybe that's why she loved it there so much.  But the best bit about this restaurant is the fact that they have a pudding trolley.  At the end of the main course, it is wheeled out in all its gilt-covered plastic splendour, with one squeaky wheel, and a slight tilt to the left. 

It doesn't really matter which of the puddings you choose, as they all contain the same ingredients, just in different quantities.  These are cream, double …

Money, money, money...

Some of you may have noticed that yesterday would have been my Nanny Joyce's 96th birthday.  For those of you lovely readers who have been with me from the start, you'll remember the painful days of late January and early February, interspersed with moments full of love, laughter and on many occasions, red wine a-plenty.

Last night, the family came together to celebrate her birthday.  Even though she was missing from our table, she was with us in spirit, knocking back the red wine like Prohibition was coming into effect the next day.  I'll update you on the gossip tomorrow.....

Going back to yesterday, I had to go through the complete humiliation of having to ask a twelve year old how to run my finances. Now either I am getting older (probable) or the banks are recruiting straight from primary school.  Jack, as the boy was called, was obviously old enough to shave (or not, as he was fuzzy faced from the nostrils downwards), and his voice had broken.  That is where any simi…

Love is the sweetest thing...

It's my wedding anniversary this week and I'm in trouble.

Three days before this year's anniversary, and I am unprepared...no card, no present, nothing.  He, on the other hand, did book something, which I spectacularly ruined by announcing that I was going out with my mother on the same evening. 

I'm not sure what he was more upset about actually.  The fact that I was out that night, or that I was going to watch men in tights for a couple of hours.  This is an annual event with my mother, which we thoroughly enjoy, in between the stifled giggles at the rolled up socks stuffed down the men's tights.  My mother always told me that this lump was a handy step for the ballerinas to tread on when executing a difficult lift.  I believed her up to the age of 25...

So for a harnessed Northerner, the husband can be very romantic.  Over the years, I have had some really thoughtful presents from him, including a handmade bench with our wedding day carved into it (no excuse to…

Sharp dressed man...

I asked the husband on Saturday night whether he was going out on his bike again on Sunday morning. 

'No.  I'm going shopping for clothes'..... 

Now the husband shops for clothes on a regular basis (every two years without fail) so it's a big event in our house.  But for the last eight years, he has not been allowed to go alone as he can't be trusted to:

1. Buy the right size (He is no longer the svelte medium of yesteryear but is in denial...)
2. Buy age-appropriate clothing (No 3/4 length trousers, heavily worded t-shirts, anything sparkly)
3. Be nice to the store staff (Patience is not his forte)
4. Come home with enough purchases (One bag does not a shopper make)

So it was a foregone conclusion that I would go with him, much to his dismay.  The shopping bonanza started in the usual way with a stiff coffee and twenty questions from me as to what his planned purchases were to be.  The best I could get out of him was 'shorts' and 'some shoes like son…

Take me to the river...

I know that I have touched on this subject before, but whilst having a cut and blow dry yesterday morning, courtesy of the lovely Simone, I wondered when the pivotal moment was when men invaded the last bastion of female privacy....

I think it all started going wrong when the stylists' names changed from Donna and Sharon to Julian and Clive.  Of course, in those days, these early male stylists were quite camp, not treading on any of our stiletto clad toes.  As time has gone on though, my salon has gone through the booted and suited smart chaps through to the slightly terrifying, heavily pierced, leather clad male stylists.  Of course, these macho types make the salons look manly, making it acceptable for our menfolk to frequent them.

Now we all know that the hair stylist has a question checklist, the answers to which go something like this if you are a woman:

'Is that water warm enough for you?'
'Yes, that's fine, thank you'.

'Is that pressure hard enough?&…

Stairway to heaven...

Now the weather is improving, the husband has re-started his Thursday nights of bike'n'beer....this is a weekly exercise session involving twenty five minutes hard cycling through the woods (he never gets lost), followed by three hours of drinking in the local hostelries.

I must say, he always looks the part when he leaves home in the fading sunlight.  Wrapped head to toe in Lycra and all the other necessary (questionable) paraphernalia, he resembles a rather stubby black pudding lit up like the Blackpool Illuminations.  He's rather self conscious of his Lycra-clad appearance though, so tends to wear baggy shorts over the bottom half, as do the other chaps in his posse.  I suppose there comes a time in most men's lives when a little mystery is not a bad thing.

So I met him and his cycling buddies, Mr B and Mr H, as I was on my way home on Thursday evening,  having spent the last hour semi-naked in the company of a rather handsome 30 year old man ( more on this another …

Midnight at the lost and found...

As the wind and rain had quietened down to a dull roar yesterday afternoon, I decided to take the two fuzzballs up to the woods for a walk.  This wood is quite a new one on my radar, kindly introduced to me by the wonderful Mrs B next door (she of the fancy coffee and waffle machines for her soon-to-be-opened café). 

Now some weeks ago, I hauled the husband round on this walk.  Not content with my directions, he suggested a 'short cut'.  As we were running in Reg's paws at that point, I agreed that a shortened walk would be a great idea.  Well it was really beautiful, and since then, this is the walk of choice for the husband and me.

Yesterday, I braved it alone. Deciding on the shorter walk as I was limited to an hour, I headed off into the woods.  An hour later, with no car on the horizon, I was panicking.  Deciding to retrace my steps, I carried on walking.  It wasn't until I passed an old dumped lawnmower for the third time (no one could be more surprised that me …

Le freak...

It was a most trying day yesterday.  Not only did my newly straightened hair have to contend with keeping out of the rain (hat/umbrella/handbag/lever-arch file depending on which part of the day you caught me) I also had to try and make my blog look more 'user friendly'.

A friend of son number 1, Master H, has offered to help me build my blog in a more professional manner, thus attracting big names to advertise on it. (Looking at my blog, I would imagine that Tena Lady, Damart, Spanx and Schmackos would be the first to throw their hats in that particular ring, all eager to jump on the bandwagon of the middle aged, crazy dog lady with a penchant for industrial knickers).

However, when Master H told me that it had to be 'user friendly', I did wonder what exactly that meant?  I have always felt that my blog with its garish orange background, and slightly overlarge facebook link was just fine.  It's slightly shabby (a bit like me), a little bit amateur (a lot like me)…

Pull up to the bumper...

Words from a Bird.  Day 139...

Today, I would like to talk about my drive..

Before you all start reaching for a stiff drink or the ESC button, let me explain.  Ten years ago, when the husband and I claimed this house as our own, our four children had an average age of eleven.  The idea that sometime in the not so distant future they would be driving, was not on our radar at all.  It was only when daughter number 1 passed her test and got her first car that we started to realise that things would have to change if we ever wanted to get into the drive again. 

You see, it's not just your own children who start driving, but their many, many friends who are all doing the same.  So as daughter number 1's Peugeot started tipping up on the drive, so did others.  Small, economical rust buckets with a life expectancy of about two years started appearing at weekends, randomly deposited at various points on our drive and the surrounding lawn. 

Something had to be done, and it was with g…

At the hop...

Words from a Bird.  Day 138

I was an angel of mercy today.  Daughter number 1, currently in the throes of only having one usable foot due to a sporting injury was going stir crazy at home.  Having spent the last four days with no transport, she had exhausted her credit card with internet shopping (I just hope that she's mobile enough to answer the door when the packages start arriving), watched the suicide-inducing daytime TV and browsed the internet for comical cat videos.  I was very concerned when she told me that she had resorted to looking at the walls after dipping into daytime TV for a six hours, so I decided that a little trip out might be advisable.

Piling the two dogs, a pair of crutches and the two of us into my Mini, we headed down to the river where the dogs could have a run, and daughter number 1 could have a cup of tea.  There's a very handy café there, where I could park her while I headed across the field with the two dogs in tow.  We were walking beside the …

Peaches...

Words from a Bird.  Day 137...

After the rugby club dinner on Friday night, testosterone has been the recurring theme of my weekend.  The husband had decided that we should go and check our allotment, as there would be weeding to be done.  Armed with forks, trowels, a strimmer and a mower we headed over there.  After ten minutes of heavy labour in the sunshine, the husband, clad in work trousers and boots, stripped off his t-shirt.  Looking at me sitting on the ground, pathetically prodding at a rather aggressive looking dandelion with my hand fork, he said, 'I'm just hot.  Don't get any ideas...' 

Oh bless the man.  Much as I adore him, any ideas that I may have had at that particular time would probably have included a large gin and tonic, a manicure (my poor nails are not attached to green fingers) or a deckchair.  I think I managed to get this across with one look over the varifocals.

Both sons have been in residence this weekend, with son number one bringing home…

Last night a DJ saved my life...

Words from a Bird.  Day 136

Friday night saw the culmination of my week's efforts come together.  Much had been done in preparation for the BIG NIGHT OUT at the Drifters Ball.  Not only did I have a fab new dress, but hair had been done (the husband still hasn't noticed), upper lip waxed, eyebrows had been thinned out and lipstick applied.   Unfortunately, I still hadn't found the time to take a Black and Decker to the legs, but as long as I didn't stand closely to someone with the same problem, it would be fine (think Velcro).  I was polished, groomed and ready to party.

It was an interesting night to be honest.  Any sort of event involving a rugby club is going to be testosterone fuelled, and for some reason the men in the room insisted on mooing like rampant bulls every time someone stood up to speak.  I am sure that if you knew the club, then all this would make sense, but as none of our party did (I still haven't worked out how Mrs Jangles got these 'rarer…

Changes...

Words from a Bird.  Day 135.

Sunny afternoons often find me sitting with my lovely neighbour, Mrs B (she of the impending café opening) out on the meadow with two mugs of tea and three dogs.  Yesterday was one of those days.  No matter that the wind, a gale force 6 with a negative chill factor, was cooling our tea to Arctic temperatures before we drank it, we were quite content, our two little faces turned up towards the pathetic watery sun like a couple of desperate sunflowers.

'Do you ever sit down and find you've got nothing to write about?'  asked Mrs B, obviously concerned for my sanity. 

Well to be honest, there are times when what I talk about doesn't come to me in a flash of inspiration.  But there is always something....

For example, I walked into work yesterday morning with another new hairdo.  So far this year, I have been curly blonde, curly brunette, straight mouse and finally straight blonde.  As I walked in, Mr G asked me whether I had changed my hair c…

Jackie...

Words from a Bird.  Day 134

I broke from my normal Wednesday evening tradition of cooking fish and losing at cards this week (see 'Up all night' if you need reminding about my giddy social life) and went to the theatre with my sister Miss R (she of the independently working eyes after three glasses of wine), the pole-dancing Mrs W and and the formidable Mrs S (The last of these ladies has yet to feature in any of my blogs which I find rather surprising, as she features in my life a great deal). 

I had managed to track down some tickets to Jackie, The Musical.  For those of you aged between 48-60, you will at this point have glazed over, your mind wandering back to flares, blue eye shadow and skyscraper shoes.  If you are a man (and I know that some of you are) this will be a complete mystery to you.  Let me explain a little. 

Jackie was a magazine which your mother didn't approve of.  In fact, Mrs W's mother refused to buy it for her as she was frightened it would l…

Bibbidi-bobbidi boo...

Words from a Bird.  Day 133

So dresses 5, 6, 7 and 8 turned up yesterday.  All completely returnable before you accuse me of being made of money.  Of these four, surely one would be suitable for the Drifters Ball?

I approached the beautifully wrapped packages with apprehension, the memories of yesterday's dress debacles still vivid in my mind.  Dress number 5 was from Lipsy.  Now before you say anything, I know and fully appreciate that the Lipsy brand is targeted at females with many less miles on the clock than I have, but the one I ordered looked suitable.  Off came the work clothes and on went the royal blue slinky number. 

Well, I think that the seamstress who cobbled this creation together ran out of thread on the side seam. The split went right up to my thigh.  Now if I was over 6 feet tall, this would have been quite decent, but as an average height female, there was ample sight of my M&S knickers (or is that 'sight of my ample M&S knickers'?)  If this was…

Dress you up...

Words from a Bird.  Day 132

I had had my clothes on and off more times yesterday than a stripper doing overtime.  You know what it's like when you have a posh night out on the horizon, you vaguely remember the dress you wore some time ago, and in your mind, you're wearing it again.  This happens to me every single time, and it isn't till I try the blooming thing on that I discover it's too small/too long/too wintery/too summery or ripped (that was one hell of a night, I can tell you).

I had planned on wearing a fabulous dress which I wore a few months ago, and it wasn't till I put it on yesterday afternoon that I remembered why I hadn't worn it since.  As it's rather snug (I like that word, much nicer than tight) I am unable to raise my arms more than a 90 degree angle without running the risk of exposing my armpits to all and sundry.  Peephole armpits are not the greatest of looks, so I decided against that one, leaving it on my bedroom floor.

Next up was…

Try, try baby...

Words from a Bird.  Day 131

I have come to the conclusion that If I don't tattoo details onto my forehead, the husband pays little attention to the marvellous events I plan for us at the weekends. 

A couple of weeks ago, I committed the two of us to a rather posh dinner dance.  Now the only reason I agreed to go to this was because 60% of my entire family are going, and I didn't want to feel left out.  Don't you hate it when everyone is talking about a great night out, and you didn't go?  Sitting there the next day listening to them going on about it, when you (or more likely, the husband) had made the fatal decision to stay in and watch Coronation Street that night.

So coming in on the end of the invite (I said yes without really knowing what I was agreeing to) I misheard the name of the event, and told the husband it was a Drifters Ball.

'Aah', he said knowingly, 'Save the last dance for me'.  So between us, we assumed that there would be some kind o…

Whip it...

Words from a Bird.  Day 130.

This morning found the husband and I at the foot of a steep hill steeling our selves for a long walk in the wonderful spring sunshine.  The husband and I have a great look which we like to adopt on these occasions.  Shorts, t-shirt, thick socks and walking boots.  Unfortunately, however practical this might be, we tend to look like a couple of extras out of a 1950's travelogue, and I have an uncontrollable urge to sing The Happy Wanderer....

So manoeuvring the reluctant husband and dogs through the gate, we came face to face with a lady who was just making her way back to her car.

'You'll have a lovely walk today', she said.  'There's a whole load of whippets and greyhounds up on the hill'.

Well this could be interesting.  I love seeing lots of dogs together, especially when they are the same breed (see Day 18) so we set off at a stonking pace, eager to see the Whippet Walk.

Well, we rounded the first bend, but there were no do…

Goody two shoes...

Words from a Bird.  Day 129.

I love Saturdays.  I recognise that this is an expected emotion for anyone who works Monday to Friday, but I really do love Saturdays.

It's the one day a week when I catch up with my family over large cappuccinos and a sausage sandwich.  (In two words, I have managed to make Baroosh in Marlow sound like a greasy spoon roadside café when it is anything but).  My sister, Miss R, flew home overnight from Barbados.  She was that desperate to see everyone yesterday morning, that she nearly came straight from the airport.  She also tried to pay the bill with Barbados dollars which was a little worrying...

The other reason I like Saturdays is that there is usually one of the children in residence (this week it is son number 1 and son number 2) which means that dog duty can be delegated.  There is always ironing to be bargained with when I make the request for a walk, and yes, I do always win funnily enough.  This meant that I had a little longer with my siste…

Little ole wine drinker me...

Words from a Bird.  Day 128.

So another work week draws to a close.  One which finds me gainfully employed in my perfect job.  There are some people who would find it worrying that rooting around in peoples' rubbish bins would constitute a perfect job, but hey, it works for me...

To celebrate the end of a great week, and the fact that the sun had come out to play, the husband and I sallied forth to the piece of grass outside our house with a bottle of Rioja and two glasses, meeting our neighbour, Mr B, who was clutching six beers and a bag of nuts (he knows how to have a good time).  Mrs B joined us, juggling a bottle of Prosecco and two more glasses, and the quick drink turned into a three hour marathon, with takeaway pizza being delivered just before the sun went down.

Mr and Mrs B are in the throes of launching themselves into a new venture, gallantly opening a new café in Abingdon (If you're local, head down there in June once they're opened).  As someone who takes gre…

Lipstick on your collar....

Words from a Bird.  Day 127.

It's the time of year that every parent with children aged between 16 and 21 dreads.  The time when you ask yourself a million times a day...

'Could I have helped more?'
'Could I have nagged less?'
'Should I have got him/her a tutor?'
'Should I leave the country now, because whatever the outcome, the fault will lay with me'.

Yes, exam season is upon us once more.  This is, however, the last year that I will really have to worry about one of my offspring's results.  The three older ones' futures are secure, so my entire concern is laid at the feet of son number 2, who is so laid back about exams that you'd think he wasn't actually taking any.  Why is it that I worry?  Do I feel that any kind of failure of my children's is a direct reflection of my capability as a parent?  Surely not....

You see, I was a complete disappointment to my parents, just about scraping through a couple of A levels before hitt…

Bend me, shape me...

Words from a Bird.  Day 126.

It was a big day for me in Binland on Tuesday.  Having been employed through an agency for the past sixteen months, the company, which I have grown to love, decided that it might be a good idea to keep me for good.  This was the best news ever, and I came into work on Tuesday with a big smile on my face, knowing that it wasn't going to be too easy for them to get rid of me now.  I was here to stay...

My manager, who you might remember is roughly half my age, mentioned in passing that I needed to have a medical.  Our eyes locked across the cramped office....was he going to ask the embarrassing questions/take the readings/measure things?  Apparently not.  A third party would ask me all the relevant questions over the internet.  There wasn't any need for clothing to be removed or blushing. 

Actually I am not too sure who would have been more embarrassed if he had to have done the medical.  I may look like a well turned out middle aged lady, but benea…

Story of my life...

Words from Bird.  Day 125.

I had a text from daughter number 2 this afternoon. 

'Just leaving SMB.  X'

I was looking at it wondering what she was prattling on about, terrified that I might have missed something she had mentioned on the Sunday (this would have been when the beefcake was on the lawn, so perfectly understandable why my mind was elsewhere).  Also, what (or where) on earth was SMB?  Just as I was racking my addled brain, a second text came in from her.  Looking forward to some enlightenment, I eagerly opened up the text.

'Oh sorry.  That's not for you! X'

No explanation of what (or where) SMB was, no clue as to who the intended recipient was.  Feeling extremely unloved and discarded, I replied with,

'Story of my life'.

This set me thinking about all the things that I think are mine, which aren't, and the things which head my way which shouldn't, as they are definitely nothing to do with me.  Let's break this down a bit.

Some of the …

You're an embarrassment...

Words from a Bird.  Day 124

I have decided that Sunday's barbecue needs revisiting, if only for the glorious reason that we had two bits of beefcake brought round by daughter number 1.  This is one of the joys of having older children, the backdrop can sometimes be worth looking at.

Now the husband and I, whilst attaining the highest levels possible of parental embarrassment over the years (mainly because of the husband's dancing and my terrible jokes) seem to fall into the 'cool parent' category when our children discuss us with their friends.  I can only imagine that this is because we both rode motorbikes in a previous life and that we always have beer in the fridge. (Actually, we never have beer in the fridge unless the children are here...the two commodities seem to go hand in hand for some reason).

So going back to the beefcake adorning my newly mown lawn yesterday afternoon...  These are friends of daughter number 1, and they turned up with daughter number 1'…

Flowers in the rain...

Words from a Bird.  Day 123.

I am a great fun of the instant garden.  Let me explain.  I am not one for waiting for plants to grow and flower.  I would much rather buy the plant all dolled up and ready for a night on the town.  This explains why a visit to the garden centre was on the cards yesterday morning, as befitting a Bank Holiday weekend.  The sun was out and a barbecue was planned for the afternoon, which meant that the no man's land, commonly known as 'the back garden' needed some serious TLC before our guests arrived, otherwise they would have to slash their way through the undergrowth with a machete to get to the table.

Flowering plants and hanging baskets were purchased.  Within an hour of leaving the garden centre, the baskets were hanging, and the plants had been hurriedly thrown into empty pots and scattered around the borders.  It all looked rather lovely.

Out came the sun loungers and their cushions. Daughter number 1, who is a complete cissy where spiders…

Welcome to the jungle...

Words from a Bird.  Day 122.

'Morning Iggy'....this was my mother's greeting as I walked into the restaurant Saturday morning for our weekly breakfast.  Just as well I had already removed my new trendy sunglasses before going in.  I had decided in the car on the way over that they weren't such a great idea.  I had done a double take in the rear view mirror, as for a nano-second I thought Ozzie Osborne had hitched a ride while I wasn't looking.  I am slowly realising that when you change your hairstyle as dramatically as I have, some thought is needed with regard to how you deal with it.

Of course, we all know how any sort of moisture in the air can destroy the sleek locks.  This means that a shower cap is de rigeur when carrying out my daily ablutions.  Of course, the chemist had nothing vaguely sensible, so I am lumbered with a psychedelic floral number.  Every time I put it on, I have to pull a 'mad old lady with no teeth of her own' face in the mirror.  …