Pretty girl...

I've just about come back to 2017 with a rather unsavoury bump.  My hair will take a little longer to recover from the vicious back combing and ozone layer destroying amounts of hairspray, buy hey, beauty always has a price...

It's really shocking how much effort those WW2 gals went to to look beautiful for their returning heroes.  Puts my wash with a wet flannel and shaved legs to shame.  To be honest, I'll be surprised if the husband ever comes home again after seeing the scarlet lipped vixens on show at Revival.  

Perhaps I'll surprise him one night.  I can just imagine him putting the key in the door to be greeted by yours truly, draped over the stair fully made up and looking like an extra from Pearl Harbour.  I reckon he'd back out the door slowly, muttering something about being at the wrong address and I'd never see him again.  Such is the level of shabbiness which greets him most evenings...

I've never really been one for 'girl clothes' (this encompasses everything which isn't jeans) but maybe a change in direction is needed...

Changing the subject, I'm in the middle of a serious deja vu episode.  After son number two's unsavoury university experience last year, he is now having another go (brave boy), so yet again, I am trawling pound shops looking for stuff for him to take with him.  This involves saucepans which will never see a gas ring, hangers which will never hold a shirt, cutlery which will wind its weary way into the bin with takeaway detritus in the first week, Fairy Liquid which will remain unopened (this goes for the tea towels and multi-purpose cleaner) and best of all, a linen basket which will hold nothing but the odd empty crisp packet.  

I'll tell you what though.  It's a great way to get rid of things which I don't really need any more.  Unwanted crockery is now heading north, as our two spare knives, an old wok, a plastic jug so old that you can't see the measurements, old pillows(I'm keeping the new ones we bought yesterday - he won't notice) and two baking trays which have seen better days.

He's also taking twenty homemade meals for one which I have lovingly made and frozen for him, with description and cooking instructions written on the lid.  These will last a week at the most, not because he has eaten them, or entertained his flatmates.

Oh no.  There would have been some haggling gone on, with two Shepherd's Pies and a Chicken Curry being swapped for a bottle of Disaronno.  The bolognese would have been exchanged for half an hour's ironing and the Fish Pies would have been excellent currency for a couple of essays.

And don't get me started on the mini roasts...



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