Words from a Bird

I suppose that many of you have already had dealings with the Covid Fairy? Up till last week, I had avoided her extremely successfully, but last Monday, she shuffled into my life.  Overweight, dressed in a shabby pink tutu with a fag hanging off her bottom lip and ash settled on her crepe bosom, her 'seen better days' wand dithered over various folk before settling on me while I was happily belting out Killer Queen at the O2. 'Don't worry about it', said the husband, 'it's just like a cold now'.  Says the man who had Covid after Christmas, lasting around fourteen minutes.  I think he managed three coughs and two, 'Is it warm in here?' comments before it went on its merry way again.   So I was optimistic that by Wednesday I'd be up and at 'em once again... Fast forward to aforementioned Wednesday.  I've not moved from my bed for seventy two hours, am coughing like I've got a fifty a day habit, and I hate everyone who I have been in

Morning ladies, I hope you all had a wonderful time at the weekend switching from shorts to thermals and sandals to wellies?  Even my wardrobe had to go and have a lie down after the many costume changes it was expected to deliver over the weekend.+ But normality seems to have returned for a while, but I am not taking any risks and am currently attired in walking boots, thick socks, shorts and a sweater.  It's one of those looks which usually draws from the husband one of his favourite sayings... 'It's at times like this that you realise that they haven't got them all locked up yet'. Which is rather rich coming from someone who has the dress sense of Charlie Cairoli... But how was your weekend?  Mine was one I have been looking forward to for around three years.  This had been put off time and time again by an artificial anticipation improver (or Covid-19 as others call it).  I finally got to fulfil my dream of seeing Queen (well, 50% of them) at the O2.  We had dra

Today, I am mainly sweating in places I never knew existed... I know, I know, ladies don't sweat, so I am in fact glowing in places I never knew existed.  Now that sounds better, if not slightly concerning bearing in mind that coupled with the tropical temperature today, I am also mid menopausal flush as I write.  Not even the HRT can withstand today's sunshine it would seem. There is a line from Blackadder which always makes me think of days like today.  '...being sticky as Sticky the stick insect stuck on a currant bun'.  Since the start of this week, I have managed to lose three layers of skin getting up from my mock leatherette office chair too quickly, I have a heart shaped inverted tattoo on my chest where I fell asleep with my necklace on and I have more white lines than an 80's pop star has on his dining table.   I need to get rid of the white lines as I'm off to Italy in a few weeks to watch daughter number one get married to her fiancé, Arthur Daley (h

And so another lovely weekend comes to an end... Of course, when you no longer have to haul your sorry carcass out of bed before the birds are even showered, then that old 'Monday feeling' seems rather null and void.  The odd thing about this retirement lark is that I still wake up with the Husband (mine, and not someone else's in case you're wondering) and feel that I have to get going with something before he leaves for his work.  So this morning, before 9am, I have managed to walk the furballs, do a food shop and sell several items of clothing which are no longer needed. I'm sure that you've all done this on ebay or similar, but it's been a revelation to me.  All the work dresses and formal shirts, the shoes and boots have all headed downstairs to my office, where they have been photographed and described and put up for sale. I've managed to sell a few bits so far, but you know, it's not the actual sale that gives me a buzz.  Nor is it the neat wr

Since giving up work ten days ago, taking any care of my personal appearance has been reduced to a quick flick of a face wipe and a splodge of moisturizer.  Even the mascara has only seen daylight on a couple of occasions, and it is this which shocks me most. It is a well known fact in our family that when I shuffle off this mortal coil, I will be carrying a small brown paper bag from Boots which will contain several Max Factor Masterpiece mascaras.  In the last couple of decades, I reckon I have managed to keep the Max Factor shareholders extremely happy and I would imagine that their CEO is currently looking at some graph showing their plummeting sales for the last few days.   When I look in a mirror with mascara free lashes, all I see is a sleepy Bird.  What I don't see is what others seem to... 'Have you changed your hairstyle?' Goodness, no.  Since deciding to keep the husband happy and attempt to grow my hair beyond my ears, every day is a battle to keep it under cont

Well, I don't know about you, but I am completely pomped out.  I've laughed, cried and cheered (that was just trying to decide what to wear to Friday's Street Party) and like most people in this green and pleasant land, have found the last four days both emotional and inspirational.    Our weekends haver probably gone down the same route... Red, white and blue, alcohol, sunshine, bunting, alcohol, paper plates, curly (or soggy, depending on which day you celebrated) sandwiches, alcohol, scones, double cream ( no clotted cream to be found in the Home Counties since the end of May) and of course, the celebratory chocolate caterpillar cake which I mentioned last week. We did our party on Friday, so managed to celebrate in the sunshine.  It was obvious as we were setting up that the caterpillar cake had nada in the way of staying power, as the corgi's ears were beginning to show signs of Jubilee Droop (something we are all suffering from this morning I'm sure). 'I&#

So happy Platinum Jubilee to you all.  As you all celebrate, festooned in red, white and blue, swearing never to look at another scone or (if you were lucky) a special edition Corgi and Queen Colin the Caterpillar cake (what is it with us Brits that every special occasion calls for a heavily iced, humanized, chocolate Swiss Roll?) the husband decided to do his own thing on this auspicious day and lay a concrete plinth for my pending greenhouse (ordered in February, estimated delivery end of August which is most useful). To be honest, I'd forgotten he'd planned this, but having returned from the Menopausal Splashers Class (you might recognise this already as Aqua Aerobics) the picture that greeted me as I attempted to get within 20 yards of my front door was a topless young fellow (not the husband) and a cement mixer.  Heading round the back with a polite nod to the topless Adonis in the drive, I headed round the back of the house to find the husband similarly (un) attired.   &#

So I left Binland on Friday... Not for any reason that they could have sorted, but purely because it was the right time to do it.  As you might remember, I have always joked about leaving Binland in a wheelie bin (or a skip if the cake consumption reached abnormal levels) but time moves on for us all, and family life seems to need me more than the bins of South Oxfordshire just now. And so it means a massive change in my life.  All of a sudden, there are worries from the past seven years or so which are no longer relevant... How's my hair looking? As someone blessed (who am I kidding) with hair which can resemble an explosion in a mattress factory on a good day, it was a decision made each morning as to the level of repair work needed to look presentable enough to foist on my workmates.  Some days I was lucky, and a simple spritz of styling spray would suffice.  But most days, it would be necessary to  grapple with a Tangle Teaser (not much teasing ever done with my hair, I can tel