I had a very good day yesterday. After work, I met up with a comparatively new friend from Binland for some lunchtime shenanigans. I'm not sure that a Brussels pate and a half pint of lime and soda really counts as shenanigans, but it was lovely to spend some time with her outside of the wheelie bins.
Because the fabulous Tash was walking the fuzzballs yesterday, I then went into town to do some shopping as yet again, the cupboards are bare. Hovering next to the potato section, I was mulling over which potatoes to invest in this week. I was just about to launch a bag of King Edward's into the trolley, when I happened to notice several bags of 'A Little Less Than Perfect' potatoes. Well they caught my interest, and as I laid my King Ted's next to the has-beens, I wondered what the differences were. They all looked the same. The King Ted's were a uniform 'roast me or bake me' size, whereas the poor relations were a bit more abstract as to their sizing, with a couple of really tiny ones which looked at me as if to say, 'Go on then. What are you going to do with me? I'm too small to roast, too big to pass as a Jersey Royal'.
Well I threw caution to the wind, and bought the sullied spuds. Although they look alright from the outside, I am now wondering whether I shall cut one open, and find that it's blue, or that it tastes of sprouts. I'll update you after their first outing, but at half the price, they weren't to be sniffed at.
While I was in the queue, having unloaded everything onto the conveyor belt, and listening to the lady in front telling the lady on the till all about her Richard's verrucas (where I live, everyone knows everyone else) a friend who I haven't seen for some years tapped me on the shoulder. Having said the usual stuff, she then went on to call me a celebrity. Worried that my dancing might have made some local rag (Elderly Woman Knocks Partner's Teeth Out Whilst Shim-Shamming) it eventually dawned on me that she was referring to the blog.
Now. I have always looked at my blog as a way of talking to myself by means of the written word. Unless you really know me, I am a stranger to you. You could pass me in the street, and be none the wiser. But a celebrity? Now that's a whole new ball game. I quite like the idea, and am thinking about introducing several new things to my day to work with this new status..
A selfie every three hours, usually in a swimsuit or drinking something alcoholic - some photo-shopping may be required for the swimsuit shots
No autographs (never been asked, except for the time I was mistaken for Camilla by three Japanese tourists - I signed in the end, as they weren't going to leave me alone until I did)
I shall employ a full time make up and hair expert to keep me looking perfect at all times. With the amount of work they'll have to do, I shall have to pay them an extortionate salary.
But this isn't for me.
No. I shall stay as I am, hidden away behind my pseudonym, and be a bit like my potatoes.
Just 'A Little Less Than Perfect'...