Friday, December 07, 2007
Tonight the lovely T. comes to visit me from the big capital of L.
She is scooting off back home to New Zealand, another friend going! Soon there will be no friends left, just Poles. They are like God and bad pennies... everywhere.
Jenny Foreigner here gets exceedingly lonely in this Provincial Pole Infested Backwater, all scheming to steal your jobs and your men!!!... Don't say I didn't warn you (maniacal hollow laughter).
I have to explain that last remark: SlapperGirl is of the Polish Persuation. So you understand I am now nurturing a filthy and somewhat unreasonable hatred against all things Pole - except the ones to dance on!
After all it takes a foreigner to know one, no? (tongue firmly wedged in cheek).
My little racist (are they a race? no? then it's not racist, is it?)...
Restart: My little pet hate aside, I am rather well, thank you! And I'm going to treat my leaving friend to a Clifton in Goldbrick House. But just the one, you understand...
Anyway , must dash - work to go to.
I need to have a bit of a rant about men as well! But I'll save that until Sunday. Watch this space.
xxx tara for now
Friday, 23 October 2009
Sinterklaas
Thursday, December 06, 2007
Mes Choux,
Today is the day of "Sinterklaas" in the old home country. What is that, oh glamourous one, I hear you ask?
It is the feast for children where you wake up in the morning to all sorts of treats left for you by your parents who pretend to be an omnipresent white bishop saint dishing out presents to all good little kids with the help of "Zwarte Piet" aka Black Pete, his (indeed) black helper. Apart from the racial thingy going on here, sounds familiar? Yes, my dears, this is the original Santa Claus. Nothing to do with Christmas at all, his name day is the 6th of December. You have to write a nice letter to him, stating how good you've been and what your wishes regarding presents are... not that they might be respected, of course! Part of being good is to learn to deal with the disappointment of not getting what you want. And to share with your siblings. This Saintly man enters the house through the chimney (even if you don't have one) in full bishop's outfit, funny hat et all. Oh, and staff. The black guy does all the work, carrying the toys, putting the bad children in his bag for punishment with the cane... Now, he is a Moor - not black from the chimney, you understand? Wears fine clothes but is obviously the servant! Children put a little present for the horse (preferred means of travel from Spain where the Saintly One lives during the rest of the year, I kid you not) like a carrot, or sugar cubes and a little something like a drawing or so for the Holy One! In my family it was normally a drink, can be cold out this time of the year on those roofs... Says more about my family than anything, hah. Every time I mention this in the UK, I see political correctness creep in... a black man as the inferior helper, eh? Tut, tut, tut... Oh, you have to know this: normally personified by a white person blackened up!!! Shock horror! The arrival of Sinterklaas some weeks in advance (by boat, from Spain) is still a televised happening hosted by the crème of presenters. I can tell you now that Black Pete was never perceived as inferior, he was the Keeper of your "good/bad" records, Helper and Punisher (cane!) and as such of equal importance which is something very hard to explain how that works... it just does and you have to take my word for it.
I miss Sinterklaas and Zwarte Piet and all the pomp and silliness of it.
Makes far more sense to live in a castle in Spain than on the bloody North Pole surrounded by elves, me thinks!
x just thought I would share that with you. x
Mes Choux,
Today is the day of "Sinterklaas" in the old home country. What is that, oh glamourous one, I hear you ask?
It is the feast for children where you wake up in the morning to all sorts of treats left for you by your parents who pretend to be an omnipresent white bishop saint dishing out presents to all good little kids with the help of "Zwarte Piet" aka Black Pete, his (indeed) black helper. Apart from the racial thingy going on here, sounds familiar? Yes, my dears, this is the original Santa Claus. Nothing to do with Christmas at all, his name day is the 6th of December. You have to write a nice letter to him, stating how good you've been and what your wishes regarding presents are... not that they might be respected, of course! Part of being good is to learn to deal with the disappointment of not getting what you want. And to share with your siblings. This Saintly man enters the house through the chimney (even if you don't have one) in full bishop's outfit, funny hat et all. Oh, and staff. The black guy does all the work, carrying the toys, putting the bad children in his bag for punishment with the cane... Now, he is a Moor - not black from the chimney, you understand? Wears fine clothes but is obviously the servant! Children put a little present for the horse (preferred means of travel from Spain where the Saintly One lives during the rest of the year, I kid you not) like a carrot, or sugar cubes and a little something like a drawing or so for the Holy One! In my family it was normally a drink, can be cold out this time of the year on those roofs... Says more about my family than anything, hah. Every time I mention this in the UK, I see political correctness creep in... a black man as the inferior helper, eh? Tut, tut, tut... Oh, you have to know this: normally personified by a white person blackened up!!! Shock horror! The arrival of Sinterklaas some weeks in advance (by boat, from Spain) is still a televised happening hosted by the crème of presenters. I can tell you now that Black Pete was never perceived as inferior, he was the Keeper of your "good/bad" records, Helper and Punisher (cane!) and as such of equal importance which is something very hard to explain how that works... it just does and you have to take my word for it.
I miss Sinterklaas and Zwarte Piet and all the pomp and silliness of it.
Makes far more sense to live in a castle in Spain than on the bloody North Pole surrounded by elves, me thinks!
x just thought I would share that with you. x
Tired, just a little bit.
Friday, November 16, 2007
hello (little tired voice),
Not much to say, amici! My boss/friend of 9 years whom I worked for 1 or 2 days a week (jewellery) is buggering off. This means I'm taking on the studio on my own... Even less people to talk to now... Bears me down to GalleryBoss and eventual customers, and taxi drivers when I do make an effort...
I've just spent the last 2 days painting 2/3 of the studio as that's empty and now I'm a bit shattered. My neck and upper back really hurt so I'm off to bed real soon. Sorry I haven't been filling you in on the Burlesque Night, but to cut a long story short: didn't get in, it sold out. I did look the Burlesque's knees however, even had my make up done professionally at the MAC counter in Debenhams. (Thank you, Sarah) The lovely N. suggested reverting to drinking cocktails in disappointment... which is alright to start with, but inadvertedly ends up with my face down the loo...
So didn't want to bore you with that part of the story. Let's just say, that I'm getting to be a bit of a liability! My social encounters are so far between that I get a bit enthusiastic, having an audience and that. Drinky-poos are being downed a bit too quick and then I find myself in more than 1 pickle. Suffice to say the lovely N. is an absolute perfect gentleman. And thank you, good sir, for getting me home! I sort of lost track whether he had to hold back my hair... but let's not go too deep into a sorry ending of a really good night out.
Yes, my friends! That bad! I'm too old to get that wasted, it's not good. Apart from anything else, it hurts in the morning. Hangovers are best left to the young, me thinks: SUFFER, YOU BASTARDS!... To be honest, I didn't have that bad a hangover. Just felt like a cork shirt. If that makes any sense..
And if it's any good: when you find yourself in the Goldbrick House in Bristol (swanky) do have a Clifton, but only one! Believe me, it's absolutely logarithmically lethal. You have been warned!!!
Apart from that, been to the opera: La Cenerentola (Cinderella) by the Welsh Opera last Saturday which was really, really fantastic (thanks to GalleryBoss). We were in full Princess mode, walking tall in the Marilyn silver sandals. Sunday I'm swanning off to Belgium, quick last visit before the festive season & buying a diamond for a commission in the event. Oh, and the last couple of days I've been really fascinated by "I'm a Celebrity (not), Get me out of here" !!! I just love Janice Dickinson, but who is she? Apart from hilariously fantastically funny...
Off to bed now, as I'm falling into the keyboard. Xx
hello (little tired voice),
Not much to say, amici! My boss/friend of 9 years whom I worked for 1 or 2 days a week (jewellery) is buggering off. This means I'm taking on the studio on my own... Even less people to talk to now... Bears me down to GalleryBoss and eventual customers, and taxi drivers when I do make an effort...
I've just spent the last 2 days painting 2/3 of the studio as that's empty and now I'm a bit shattered. My neck and upper back really hurt so I'm off to bed real soon. Sorry I haven't been filling you in on the Burlesque Night, but to cut a long story short: didn't get in, it sold out. I did look the Burlesque's knees however, even had my make up done professionally at the MAC counter in Debenhams. (Thank you, Sarah) The lovely N. suggested reverting to drinking cocktails in disappointment... which is alright to start with, but inadvertedly ends up with my face down the loo...
So didn't want to bore you with that part of the story. Let's just say, that I'm getting to be a bit of a liability! My social encounters are so far between that I get a bit enthusiastic, having an audience and that. Drinky-poos are being downed a bit too quick and then I find myself in more than 1 pickle. Suffice to say the lovely N. is an absolute perfect gentleman. And thank you, good sir, for getting me home! I sort of lost track whether he had to hold back my hair... but let's not go too deep into a sorry ending of a really good night out.
Yes, my friends! That bad! I'm too old to get that wasted, it's not good. Apart from anything else, it hurts in the morning. Hangovers are best left to the young, me thinks: SUFFER, YOU BASTARDS!... To be honest, I didn't have that bad a hangover. Just felt like a cork shirt. If that makes any sense..
And if it's any good: when you find yourself in the Goldbrick House in Bristol (swanky) do have a Clifton, but only one! Believe me, it's absolutely logarithmically lethal. You have been warned!!!
Apart from that, been to the opera: La Cenerentola (Cinderella) by the Welsh Opera last Saturday which was really, really fantastic (thanks to GalleryBoss). We were in full Princess mode, walking tall in the Marilyn silver sandals. Sunday I'm swanning off to Belgium, quick last visit before the festive season & buying a diamond for a commission in the event. Oh, and the last couple of days I've been really fascinated by "I'm a Celebrity (not), Get me out of here" !!! I just love Janice Dickinson, but who is she? Apart from hilariously fantastically funny...
Off to bed now, as I'm falling into the keyboard. Xx
Wednesday, 21 October 2009
Brigitte Bordeaux
Tuesday, November 06, 2007
Current mood: bouncy
Dahlinks!
One of my friends enquired over the weekend if I was still alive... as my last blog posting was 2 months ago!
Had I met Mr. Right and was now involved in wildly romantic trysts? Had I secretly killed off ExBoy and the Slapper and was keeping a low profile until the proverbial shit hit the fan? Had I undergone severe cosmetic surgery to turn me into my goddess within and was biding my time to make an Entrance? Had I gone into the closet fed up with men and waiting to come out?...
None of the above, mes amies, none of the above. Only thing I did was go to Florence for 5 days beginning of October which was nice; extremely nice actually!!! Oh, and I went to Belgium in September where every one was very happy to see me. I love my friends and family. Enough soppiness!...
And then I hit a bit of a black hole... Dunno if this had to do with the fact that it's exactly 1 year ago I escaped the Grim Reaper by a hair (nananananna...) and was sort of contemplating my navel? I found things in there I lost ages ago... fluff mainly. Now, we al know that indulging in self pity is NOT cool! So... I didn't bore you with it. No rants, no moans, just me alone in Duck Towers, formerly known as home, crying in my Grand Vin de Bordeaux. I met up with a couple of MySpace friends who are now Real Friends - you know who you are, you've been upgraded, - which was an absolute delight. But none of them is local, so... no good for a little sob on the shoulder and a pat on the back.
But finally... we hit floor (you always have to) and the only way is up now.
So things are looking good, me thinks.
I still hate ExBoy with a spitting vengeance but try to avoid confrontation which isn't that hard as he works away from the provincial town of B. half of the time. And the time he is around, he gets summoned by Slapper Girl.
It does get lonely, mind. Don't forget that due to what I do (making jewellery is rather solitary) there is no social work environment. And my friends seem to move away from B. at an alarming speed. So I'm a bit at a loss here, how to meet new people?
I do go out, on occasion, but find myself inadvertedly ending up in a gay club... because they have better music, more fun, are the right side of outrageous and don't judge you, so it seems. I don't think I'm going to bump into Mr. Right there though, am I? huh... Cinema is nice to do on your own, a concert too but I lack the enthusing afterwards with a companion, going to restaurants is near impossible, what's left? Gigs! Yup, that's a good one as you can always prop up the bar looking enigmatically solitary.
SO... been brewing up to this one... I'm going out on Thursday! To a burlesque evening no less. Well, if there are single hot blooded males about that should be the place, no? And the dressing up is a perk. Which brings me neatly to what I had on my liver all along (Flemish proverb, don't ask): I went shopping!
I bought a divine fake leopard coat, very lush. And then a little sparkly dress and posh knickers (Ospreys, oo-er), and sequined hair bands and outrageous tights (not for Thursday as that is stockings/hold ups day...) and I'm smiling like the Cheshire Cat. No shoes! Well, I'm still peeved that some bitch outbid me last second on the Louboutins last Sunday evening (may she have cobbles to walk on). But then I have the shoes and clutch to wear with my Outfit already... Brigitte Bordeaux is about to hit Bristol. Brace yourself, Boys! (grins very widely). And whoever declined my invitation: watch this Space...
mwuah mwuah, sweeties. (smelling of Maitresse by Agent Provocateur)
currently listening: I Wanna Be Loved By You by Marilyn Monroe
Current mood: bouncy
Dahlinks!
One of my friends enquired over the weekend if I was still alive... as my last blog posting was 2 months ago!
Had I met Mr. Right and was now involved in wildly romantic trysts? Had I secretly killed off ExBoy and the Slapper and was keeping a low profile until the proverbial shit hit the fan? Had I undergone severe cosmetic surgery to turn me into my goddess within and was biding my time to make an Entrance? Had I gone into the closet fed up with men and waiting to come out?...
None of the above, mes amies, none of the above. Only thing I did was go to Florence for 5 days beginning of October which was nice; extremely nice actually!!! Oh, and I went to Belgium in September where every one was very happy to see me. I love my friends and family. Enough soppiness!...
And then I hit a bit of a black hole... Dunno if this had to do with the fact that it's exactly 1 year ago I escaped the Grim Reaper by a hair (nananananna...) and was sort of contemplating my navel? I found things in there I lost ages ago... fluff mainly. Now, we al know that indulging in self pity is NOT cool! So... I didn't bore you with it. No rants, no moans, just me alone in Duck Towers, formerly known as home, crying in my Grand Vin de Bordeaux. I met up with a couple of MySpace friends who are now Real Friends - you know who you are, you've been upgraded, - which was an absolute delight. But none of them is local, so... no good for a little sob on the shoulder and a pat on the back.
But finally... we hit floor (you always have to) and the only way is up now.
So things are looking good, me thinks.
I still hate ExBoy with a spitting vengeance but try to avoid confrontation which isn't that hard as he works away from the provincial town of B. half of the time. And the time he is around, he gets summoned by Slapper Girl.
It does get lonely, mind. Don't forget that due to what I do (making jewellery is rather solitary) there is no social work environment. And my friends seem to move away from B. at an alarming speed. So I'm a bit at a loss here, how to meet new people?
I do go out, on occasion, but find myself inadvertedly ending up in a gay club... because they have better music, more fun, are the right side of outrageous and don't judge you, so it seems. I don't think I'm going to bump into Mr. Right there though, am I? huh... Cinema is nice to do on your own, a concert too but I lack the enthusing afterwards with a companion, going to restaurants is near impossible, what's left? Gigs! Yup, that's a good one as you can always prop up the bar looking enigmatically solitary.
SO... been brewing up to this one... I'm going out on Thursday! To a burlesque evening no less. Well, if there are single hot blooded males about that should be the place, no? And the dressing up is a perk. Which brings me neatly to what I had on my liver all along (Flemish proverb, don't ask): I went shopping!
I bought a divine fake leopard coat, very lush. And then a little sparkly dress and posh knickers (Ospreys, oo-er), and sequined hair bands and outrageous tights (not for Thursday as that is stockings/hold ups day...) and I'm smiling like the Cheshire Cat. No shoes! Well, I'm still peeved that some bitch outbid me last second on the Louboutins last Sunday evening (may she have cobbles to walk on). But then I have the shoes and clutch to wear with my Outfit already... Brigitte Bordeaux is about to hit Bristol. Brace yourself, Boys! (grins very widely). And whoever declined my invitation: watch this Space...
mwuah mwuah, sweeties. (smelling of Maitresse by Agent Provocateur)
currently listening: I Wanna Be Loved By You by Marilyn Monroe
Cat-sitting
Saturday, September 08, 2007
Current mood: sad
Salut mes amis,
It's the middle of the night and I cannot sleep - again.
Insomnia drives me into the treacherous sucking void of MySpace... only other insomniacs left, lots of weirdos and those in other time zones. 't Is a strange thing this MySpace, isn't it? Giving a false feeling of belonging with "meeting" new people, "befriending" them, "talking" to them... and none of it is for real, whatever anyone says. Your real friends look after you when you're down ...
My best friend here in the provincial town of B. is emigrating to Kiwiland tomorrow. The last weeks have been filled with packing, anxiety, more packing, reassuring, arrangements for the business, fights with the bank, more anxiety and tomorrow it's all over. She's on a plane swanning off to join her love.
I'll miss her, a lot!
Especially since my real circle of friends seems to shrink substantially lately. Well, there's the whole lot that came with ExBoy... don't hear from them, ever. Not even when I was croaking in hospital last year. Sort of out of sight, out of mind thing going on. Or maybe ExBoy has done my PR for me? Who knows? Sad nevertheless as good times were had.
Oh and that's another thing I was pondering the other day: when you split up after a long time together you loose the possibility to share memories. Like in "remember when you did so and so and then we blahdiblah... How we howled with laughter?" Or your holiday pics... All those memories; not gone, but unable to share them anymore as the one to share them with is working on other memories with someone else...
So effectively your life seems to be taken away from you; stripped to the bare essence which is you, I guess. And "you" is flipping lonely! No amount of MySpazz mates can change that as you can't have a sob and cuddle with them, can you now?
Insomnia invariably leads to extreme navelgazing, especially when one is suffering from the PMT. I'm so fed up of being alone! I'll be glad to get away for a day or 10, back to the old country. Meet people that are glad to see me. It'll do my soul good. Until then, I'm catsitting for GalleryBoss. Trust me to find the most unsociable cat in the world for company. J'en ai marre!!!!
I better take one of my little tablets...
Duck Towers is an oasis of tranquility compared to this place where traffic never stops, clubbers argue and vomit on their way home, ambulances tear by,.. the city centre, quoi?
Good morning , me ducks. I hope you have a better day than mine. xxx
Current mood: sad
Salut mes amis,
It's the middle of the night and I cannot sleep - again.
Insomnia drives me into the treacherous sucking void of MySpace... only other insomniacs left, lots of weirdos and those in other time zones. 't Is a strange thing this MySpace, isn't it? Giving a false feeling of belonging with "meeting" new people, "befriending" them, "talking" to them... and none of it is for real, whatever anyone says. Your real friends look after you when you're down ...
My best friend here in the provincial town of B. is emigrating to Kiwiland tomorrow. The last weeks have been filled with packing, anxiety, more packing, reassuring, arrangements for the business, fights with the bank, more anxiety and tomorrow it's all over. She's on a plane swanning off to join her love.
I'll miss her, a lot!
Especially since my real circle of friends seems to shrink substantially lately. Well, there's the whole lot that came with ExBoy... don't hear from them, ever. Not even when I was croaking in hospital last year. Sort of out of sight, out of mind thing going on. Or maybe ExBoy has done my PR for me? Who knows? Sad nevertheless as good times were had.
Oh and that's another thing I was pondering the other day: when you split up after a long time together you loose the possibility to share memories. Like in "remember when you did so and so and then we blahdiblah... How we howled with laughter?" Or your holiday pics... All those memories; not gone, but unable to share them anymore as the one to share them with is working on other memories with someone else...
So effectively your life seems to be taken away from you; stripped to the bare essence which is you, I guess. And "you" is flipping lonely! No amount of MySpazz mates can change that as you can't have a sob and cuddle with them, can you now?
Insomnia invariably leads to extreme navelgazing, especially when one is suffering from the PMT. I'm so fed up of being alone! I'll be glad to get away for a day or 10, back to the old country. Meet people that are glad to see me. It'll do my soul good. Until then, I'm catsitting for GalleryBoss. Trust me to find the most unsociable cat in the world for company. J'en ai marre!!!!
I better take one of my little tablets...
Duck Towers is an oasis of tranquility compared to this place where traffic never stops, clubbers argue and vomit on their way home, ambulances tear by,.. the city centre, quoi?
Good morning , me ducks. I hope you have a better day than mine. xxx
Tuesday, 13 October 2009
Bank holidays
Saturday, August 25, 2007
Current mood: cheerful
Bongiorno amici,
All is set for a glorious August bank holiday weekend.
I woke up this morning in Duck Towers, back on my own after ExMum InLaw (OutLaw actually, come to think of it ... which is the whole problem, no?) has returned to blistering Spain. I can return to my routine of skillfully avoiding the Lord of the Flat, aka ExBoy, when he comes around to pick up his mail, faf around on his computer, or whatever he does when he's here. Normally he's gone by the time I get back, out of fear of leaving the Slapper on her own too long (She does deserve her little nickname, you know... but that's another story...)
So, yes, home alone again and it's bliss! Especially now the sun has decided to make an appearance and might be hanging around for the weekend. And... GalleryBoss decided executively that, as the weather is very good and nobody will be out buying art, doors will be closed on Saturday. This means I have an unexpected whole weekend off! !!!!! I was a bit miffed as I could have done something more exciting like, like, like (thinking hard)... go up North, visit some friends, visit Cornwall, or go to Welshy Wales... Now there is a thought... bear with me on that one!
So yesterday I locked up and cycled to the Waterfront after quickly nipping into Waterstones to buy a book (Sleeping Around - C. Townsend, appropriate reading for the single girl around town). Oh, on my part, there's lots of feverish wishful thinking and not a lot of action... but there you go. Maybe I pick up some tips along the read. A good spot to go and get the last sun is at the quayside of the Arnolfini. So, me dashes in for a beer - extortiate prices, flipping heck - to then find a spot amongst the little cliques of friends or canoodling couples. This normally depresses me, with being the loner and that, but this time I couldn't care less. I felt well jolly, and jolie since you ask, wearing my skinny hipster jeans with sparkly espadrille wedges, little white T and black and white polka dot hair band; reading a naughty paperback. Let's face it, last bank holiday I found myself on this quay (Easter Saturday eve) I got lucky, very handsomely so... (Grinning widely). Short but sweet and I don't refer to measurements in this case, dahlings!
A couple of things in the book made me laugh out loud as they were very recognizable (girl gets dumped by boyfriend, moans to girlfriend...). I sat there, quite happily for an hour or so before walking home (It's uphill, not enough gears on my pedal bike since I came off flying over the handlebars smashing the right gear lever with my coccyx - ouch for weeks!). I was even contemplating going out, on my own, dressing up and all that. Of course I got completely sidetracked by this booklet... which is not exactly a literature masterwork but here and there touches a girlie nerve. Like where she makes a statement about "drama-queen men" (men that express verbally their will to commit to you after a very short time)"Chances are that the guy who talk spontaneously in the future tense (...) on the second date will probably never show up for the third." Well, that surely rang a bell! Which brings me in a round about way to the aforementioned Wales.
You remember some months back? I met someone through the Guardian Soulmates (I know, I know... don't you start! Try my place! 44 year olds are not really top of the wanted list, sweeties, unless for 60+) After mailing and chatting a real life meet was set up. And guess what? We hit it off instantly... My situation as it is leaves little space to meet at mine so I coached over to M. (where CZJ has a little seaside abode) a couple of times. I fell, like a brick... stupidly so, with hindsight. I should have known better. In fact I DID, as I expressed my doubts in a blog posting. He seemed the sort of trophy wife type (nippy sports car, flash watch, ...) and I've never considered myself to be one of those, however well I scrub up on occasion. But he convinced me completely and I liked being paraded a bit. Did the world for my self esteem, I kid you not.
But then, bang! Last visit was cut short for one or other half baked reason from his side. I had a gut wrenching journey back, picking up on a bad vibe, not knowing what was going on. And that was it... He's been blanking me ever since. Only short polite answers to my messages. Doesn't pick up the phone (number recognition... fabulous!). I tried to have a talk when I did get through, giving him all the easy options ( "just tell me like it is", "we didn't make any promises", "I understand...", blahdiblahdiblah) Trying to work out a reason to make me able to accept the complete turnaround in him. Maybe his ex wanted reconciliation? Whatever... anything is better than nothing.
.But nothing is what I got "Things are a bit difficult with the business..." WTF????? This is the guy that started texting me 8 am, continuously during the day, until going to bed - I still keep some, just to remind me of how big his seismic shift was. This was, unfortunately pour moi, the first guy I opened up to since ExBoy. Dangerous and silly; well, I feel right silly now! Thank you, Mr. F.! Not so good for the self esteem. But then I should know better than to get that from a guy, I'm old enough! So there you go, unfinished business! Part of me wants to zip over and face him - not making a scene, just politely ask why, face to face. But it's better to let go, me thinks, as he probably will come up with other classics like "it's not you, it's me"... I can do without that sort of cowardly claptrap.
In the meantime I am brooding over a last gesture, I do like to have the last word in matters where I feel I've been cut out for no reason; I will keep you posted.
Time for a cup of industrial strength, me thinks and ponder about what to do with my unexpected day off... get my leathers out... go for spin...Pose, Biker Girl, pose!!!
Arrivederci, amores. xxx
PS I have booked myself a flight to Florence early October. I will pack nice dresses, high heels, jewellery and go on a sophisticated adventure. Who knows what the gods throw in my way? Just have to be careful not to trip over it then...
Currently listening: Two Wheels Good by Prefab Sprout
Current mood: cheerful
Bongiorno amici,
All is set for a glorious August bank holiday weekend.
I woke up this morning in Duck Towers, back on my own after ExMum InLaw (OutLaw actually, come to think of it ... which is the whole problem, no?) has returned to blistering Spain. I can return to my routine of skillfully avoiding the Lord of the Flat, aka ExBoy, when he comes around to pick up his mail, faf around on his computer, or whatever he does when he's here. Normally he's gone by the time I get back, out of fear of leaving the Slapper on her own too long (She does deserve her little nickname, you know... but that's another story...)
So, yes, home alone again and it's bliss! Especially now the sun has decided to make an appearance and might be hanging around for the weekend. And... GalleryBoss decided executively that, as the weather is very good and nobody will be out buying art, doors will be closed on Saturday. This means I have an unexpected whole weekend off! !!!!! I was a bit miffed as I could have done something more exciting like, like, like (thinking hard)... go up North, visit some friends, visit Cornwall, or go to Welshy Wales... Now there is a thought... bear with me on that one!
So yesterday I locked up and cycled to the Waterfront after quickly nipping into Waterstones to buy a book (Sleeping Around - C. Townsend, appropriate reading for the single girl around town). Oh, on my part, there's lots of feverish wishful thinking and not a lot of action... but there you go. Maybe I pick up some tips along the read. A good spot to go and get the last sun is at the quayside of the Arnolfini. So, me dashes in for a beer - extortiate prices, flipping heck - to then find a spot amongst the little cliques of friends or canoodling couples. This normally depresses me, with being the loner and that, but this time I couldn't care less. I felt well jolly, and jolie since you ask, wearing my skinny hipster jeans with sparkly espadrille wedges, little white T and black and white polka dot hair band; reading a naughty paperback. Let's face it, last bank holiday I found myself on this quay (Easter Saturday eve) I got lucky, very handsomely so... (Grinning widely). Short but sweet and I don't refer to measurements in this case, dahlings!
A couple of things in the book made me laugh out loud as they were very recognizable (girl gets dumped by boyfriend, moans to girlfriend...). I sat there, quite happily for an hour or so before walking home (It's uphill, not enough gears on my pedal bike since I came off flying over the handlebars smashing the right gear lever with my coccyx - ouch for weeks!). I was even contemplating going out, on my own, dressing up and all that. Of course I got completely sidetracked by this booklet... which is not exactly a literature masterwork but here and there touches a girlie nerve. Like where she makes a statement about "drama-queen men" (men that express verbally their will to commit to you after a very short time)"Chances are that the guy who talk spontaneously in the future tense (...) on the second date will probably never show up for the third." Well, that surely rang a bell! Which brings me in a round about way to the aforementioned Wales.
You remember some months back? I met someone through the Guardian Soulmates (I know, I know... don't you start! Try my place! 44 year olds are not really top of the wanted list, sweeties, unless for 60+) After mailing and chatting a real life meet was set up. And guess what? We hit it off instantly... My situation as it is leaves little space to meet at mine so I coached over to M. (where CZJ has a little seaside abode) a couple of times. I fell, like a brick... stupidly so, with hindsight. I should have known better. In fact I DID, as I expressed my doubts in a blog posting. He seemed the sort of trophy wife type (nippy sports car, flash watch, ...) and I've never considered myself to be one of those, however well I scrub up on occasion. But he convinced me completely and I liked being paraded a bit. Did the world for my self esteem, I kid you not.
But then, bang! Last visit was cut short for one or other half baked reason from his side. I had a gut wrenching journey back, picking up on a bad vibe, not knowing what was going on. And that was it... He's been blanking me ever since. Only short polite answers to my messages. Doesn't pick up the phone (number recognition... fabulous!). I tried to have a talk when I did get through, giving him all the easy options ( "just tell me like it is", "we didn't make any promises", "I understand...", blahdiblahdiblah) Trying to work out a reason to make me able to accept the complete turnaround in him. Maybe his ex wanted reconciliation? Whatever... anything is better than nothing.
.But nothing is what I got "Things are a bit difficult with the business..." WTF????? This is the guy that started texting me 8 am, continuously during the day, until going to bed - I still keep some, just to remind me of how big his seismic shift was. This was, unfortunately pour moi, the first guy I opened up to since ExBoy. Dangerous and silly; well, I feel right silly now! Thank you, Mr. F.! Not so good for the self esteem. But then I should know better than to get that from a guy, I'm old enough! So there you go, unfinished business! Part of me wants to zip over and face him - not making a scene, just politely ask why, face to face. But it's better to let go, me thinks, as he probably will come up with other classics like "it's not you, it's me"... I can do without that sort of cowardly claptrap.
In the meantime I am brooding over a last gesture, I do like to have the last word in matters where I feel I've been cut out for no reason; I will keep you posted.
Time for a cup of industrial strength, me thinks and ponder about what to do with my unexpected day off... get my leathers out... go for spin...Pose, Biker Girl, pose!!!
Arrivederci, amores. xxx
PS I have booked myself a flight to Florence early October. I will pack nice dresses, high heels, jewellery and go on a sophisticated adventure. Who knows what the gods throw in my way? Just have to be careful not to trip over it then...
Currently listening: Two Wheels Good by Prefab Sprout
Funerals
Thursday, August 23, 2007
So........where was I?
Ah yes, looking a few hundred squids, in the car waiting at the crematorium. Suddenly ExBoy's (half) sister walks by. Now she has been really nice to me during all the shenanigans. So we leap out of the Punto to say hello and she says she wanted to come for support. That put a lump in my throat. Then we all decided to stroll towards the cousins from up North to say hi. Some were very friendly, some were a bit distant; one asked frowning: "Where's (name ExBoy)?" I answered he would be arriving soon, with the family... a bewildered expression, but nothing was said. Suddenly a blonde woman dashes over, family, she's always there but I can't remember her name - shame on me! "My God, you look good! Where is...?" And that's when we all spotted him (and her). So I said "Looks like I'm officially not part of the family any more" upon which she grabbed me in a smothering hug and I'm pretty sure, muttering "bloody fool". Well, the cavalry was in! Made me feel sort of good. ExBoy then peeled away from his company to walk to us. To avoid confrontation I walked away from the cousins. Less embarrassing for all...
All were waiting to go in... We were watching them. I was being watched equally. The other sister arrived with her 2 girls, stood around for a bit and then... you could have knocked me over with a feather - came all the way over to me to give me a long comforting hug!?!!!! WTF? This woman has never been really friendly to me in 12 years and I expected her to be glad to be rid if you know what I mean. Now that threw me, people! And then it was time to go. Nothing much to say, but it felt really weird to see someone else walking and sitting where I had been not that long ago. She must have been told to wear something decent and not her typical punky clobber. High heels but cheap, darlings, cheap... the lip jewellery didn't help... That was new. So was the fact that his balding patch showed up really well! The hard bit was at the end, when the family got up and walked out. It's effing hard to see yourself being replaced with such ease and without any grace! Bit of a minor breakdown ensued - in private, after he past us by... Again the sister was there with a bear hug...and urged me to come to the wake after. Feck, we might as well go the whole 9 bloody yards, eh?
Bit of restoration to the old (very demure!) paintworks before facing the Family again. M. and me buggered off to have a pow wow over coffee and cake. We decided to go to the swanky hotel where the wake was to be held but not stay too long, acte de présence... And I was determined to put on a good show. And so it happened; we walked in when everyone was already well established to a (apparently) Shocked Pair, who then looked very uncomfortable for the duration of my stay. I had a chat with the family of the auntie (son) who was delighted that I showed up. The eyes of all present were on us, sweeties. What were they expecting? A scene? Eastenders style? Not from this bird... Then one by one, people walked up to me just to say hello, or give a little wink, or mouth "well done you"... And it suddenly dawned on me: every woman present - bar one, of course - was on my side as they could just empathize with their own worst nightmare: to have to stand there when the younger model is being paraded... ha! I felt better instantly. We left just short of an hour's stay and 2 glasses of red.
I hear you ask, but how did you get sloshed then, oh wondrous one? - There is a bit of a tail to the story I'm afraid. I dragged M. to the hotel bar as I deserved a treat after that. So I got her a juice (driving) and myself a glass of champagne! And we sat down to mull over the situation. M. was flabbergasted by the Slapper (not seen before) and came out with the immortal words: "She makes him look old!" I could have kissed her... And then the whole party walked in to go and sit on the balcony, smoking. It was sort of unexpected to see me, so after 5 minutes who comes walking back in, bee lining for me?....yes! !! And when he kneeled beside me to start talking, I nearly lost it. So I just told him to P*** Off, grabbed my bill and went over to the bar to pay, hairs standing on end and heart beating in throat. Cheeky bastard!
So, then M. dropped me off at home and I foolishly fished out a bottle of cava from my fridge and ... well ... great stonking headache the next day... A small glitch on the Richter scale of things.
Je vous laisse, mes amis, work to do!
Tara for now.
So........where was I?
Ah yes, looking a few hundred squids, in the car waiting at the crematorium. Suddenly ExBoy's (half) sister walks by. Now she has been really nice to me during all the shenanigans. So we leap out of the Punto to say hello and she says she wanted to come for support. That put a lump in my throat. Then we all decided to stroll towards the cousins from up North to say hi. Some were very friendly, some were a bit distant; one asked frowning: "Where's (name ExBoy)?" I answered he would be arriving soon, with the family... a bewildered expression, but nothing was said. Suddenly a blonde woman dashes over, family, she's always there but I can't remember her name - shame on me! "My God, you look good! Where is...?" And that's when we all spotted him (and her). So I said "Looks like I'm officially not part of the family any more" upon which she grabbed me in a smothering hug and I'm pretty sure, muttering "bloody fool". Well, the cavalry was in! Made me feel sort of good. ExBoy then peeled away from his company to walk to us. To avoid confrontation I walked away from the cousins. Less embarrassing for all...
All were waiting to go in... We were watching them. I was being watched equally. The other sister arrived with her 2 girls, stood around for a bit and then... you could have knocked me over with a feather - came all the way over to me to give me a long comforting hug!?!!!! WTF? This woman has never been really friendly to me in 12 years and I expected her to be glad to be rid if you know what I mean. Now that threw me, people! And then it was time to go. Nothing much to say, but it felt really weird to see someone else walking and sitting where I had been not that long ago. She must have been told to wear something decent and not her typical punky clobber. High heels but cheap, darlings, cheap... the lip jewellery didn't help... That was new. So was the fact that his balding patch showed up really well! The hard bit was at the end, when the family got up and walked out. It's effing hard to see yourself being replaced with such ease and without any grace! Bit of a minor breakdown ensued - in private, after he past us by... Again the sister was there with a bear hug...and urged me to come to the wake after. Feck, we might as well go the whole 9 bloody yards, eh?
Bit of restoration to the old (very demure!) paintworks before facing the Family again. M. and me buggered off to have a pow wow over coffee and cake. We decided to go to the swanky hotel where the wake was to be held but not stay too long, acte de présence... And I was determined to put on a good show. And so it happened; we walked in when everyone was already well established to a (apparently) Shocked Pair, who then looked very uncomfortable for the duration of my stay. I had a chat with the family of the auntie (son) who was delighted that I showed up. The eyes of all present were on us, sweeties. What were they expecting? A scene? Eastenders style? Not from this bird... Then one by one, people walked up to me just to say hello, or give a little wink, or mouth "well done you"... And it suddenly dawned on me: every woman present - bar one, of course - was on my side as they could just empathize with their own worst nightmare: to have to stand there when the younger model is being paraded... ha! I felt better instantly. We left just short of an hour's stay and 2 glasses of red.
I hear you ask, but how did you get sloshed then, oh wondrous one? - There is a bit of a tail to the story I'm afraid. I dragged M. to the hotel bar as I deserved a treat after that. So I got her a juice (driving) and myself a glass of champagne! And we sat down to mull over the situation. M. was flabbergasted by the Slapper (not seen before) and came out with the immortal words: "She makes him look old!" I could have kissed her... And then the whole party walked in to go and sit on the balcony, smoking. It was sort of unexpected to see me, so after 5 minutes who comes walking back in, bee lining for me?....yes! !! And when he kneeled beside me to start talking, I nearly lost it. So I just told him to P*** Off, grabbed my bill and went over to the bar to pay, hairs standing on end and heart beating in throat. Cheeky bastard!
So, then M. dropped me off at home and I foolishly fished out a bottle of cava from my fridge and ... well ... great stonking headache the next day... A small glitch on the Richter scale of things.
Je vous laisse, mes amis, work to do!
Tara for now.
't Is late and me is a bit sloshed...
Friday, August 17, 2007
'ello,
Ca va? Me, I'm a bit inebriated... had to go to funeral today. Remember the auntie that passed away last week? Voila!
Only, yesterday evening, ExBoy walked in to pick up his suit for the funeral... Had hair cut (about bloody time, he looked a right sight) with fancy sideburns bit... Lights fag... "I hear you go to the funeral tomorrow" (he says). "Pardon? Yes of course." "It's only that I will bring (Slapper's name), hope there won't be a scene?..." (.................WTF????!.....)
I thanked him for his gallantry!... but I'm telling you now that was my peaceful night gone... I also could've walloped him one. When have I ever made a scene? En plein publique? Pas moi, mon vieux! Anyway, that was me waxing to the nines, moisturizing, face masking, etc etc until the wee hours... and then fall asleep with half a tube of grape-a-loids around my eyes... only to wake up to "spot" alert, which was nipped in the bud. I put on "that outfit" (see pic) but thought it a bit too festive, so opted for understated but very defined short LBD with the K. Cole silk ankle strap shoes. Looked like a few hundred squids, sweeties! Demure but spicy, if you catch my drift. My best friend, Maike, came to pick me up.
(to be cont., am bit drowsy now... muah, muah)
'ello,
Ca va? Me, I'm a bit inebriated... had to go to funeral today. Remember the auntie that passed away last week? Voila!
Only, yesterday evening, ExBoy walked in to pick up his suit for the funeral... Had hair cut (about bloody time, he looked a right sight) with fancy sideburns bit... Lights fag... "I hear you go to the funeral tomorrow" (he says). "Pardon? Yes of course." "It's only that I will bring (Slapper's name), hope there won't be a scene?..." (.................WTF????!.....)
I thanked him for his gallantry!... but I'm telling you now that was my peaceful night gone... I also could've walloped him one. When have I ever made a scene? En plein publique? Pas moi, mon vieux! Anyway, that was me waxing to the nines, moisturizing, face masking, etc etc until the wee hours... and then fall asleep with half a tube of grape-a-loids around my eyes... only to wake up to "spot" alert, which was nipped in the bud. I put on "that outfit" (see pic) but thought it a bit too festive, so opted for understated but very defined short LBD with the K. Cole silk ankle strap shoes. Looked like a few hundred squids, sweeties! Demure but spicy, if you catch my drift. My best friend, Maike, came to pick me up.
(to be cont., am bit drowsy now... muah, muah)
Thursday, 1 October 2009
(whistling in the morning)
Thursday, August 09, 2007
Current mood: energetic
It is a glorious morning here in the South West!
Duck Towers is a scene of idyllic bliss: the little birdies are twittering in the bushes, the crows are -ahum- crowing in the high trees, the recycling collectors are merrily launching empty bottles and cans in their containers, Freddy the squirel is desperately burrying his nuts and the little spider in the window has just wrapped up a huge bluebottle picnic - must have invited the family around.
Et moi? I am sitting in my girlie jimmyjams in the window, real just-out-of-bed hair style, with a cup of industrial strength Yorkshire tea and a bowl of porridge, debating what to do today.
Today, ExBoy's mum is returning from Spain as there was a sad loss in the family. Remember the Auntie that gave me a hard time couple of months ago? Passed away 2 days ago - after a nasty illness, I hasten to add. Nothing to do with occult powers from my side. Anyway, I made my peace with her in visiting her a couple of times in these last weeks. Nobody deserves to be lonely at the end.
I have been slacking on the blog front, je m'excuse profondement. Not that my life suddenly got very exciting, au contraire mes amis... I have gone and bought myself a digital camera (finally) and you might as well know (drumroll): I couldn't resist a pair of strappy silver sandals as well!!!!!!!!... They are now officially the highest heels in da house, apart from the ones with platforms but that is cheating a bit. So, to get myself used to this new bit of complicated technology (it can do everything but make tea in the morning), I took pictures of my very modest shoe collection, personnaly posing with the highest. Then I whacked them on the computer, photoshopped a bit (= cropping the excess crap) and launched them on MySpazz pics under the caption "Chaud...chaud...chaussures" and defaulted a leggy, headless pic of myself (as you can still see). Well,.....what can I say? Suddenly every man and his dog wants to join my Friendly Horde. I get requests to go and walk all over some, endless offers of playing with my feet (and that's the decent ones...urgh)... to cut a long story short: My space is being inundated with visitors and not all of them equally welcome. So, without realising, I added to my daily tasks by having to muck out the muck.
The upside is to discover there are some normal people around who can see beyond the shoe thing and have a proper look at my work. ("a very good morning, you know who you are!") But it has me thinking about this MySpace thing again. Personally, I used it to be noticed (not half work the last couple of days...) and to vent my spleen about my life as it has been for the last year (sort of pretty crappy). It's like keeping an open diary and the good thing about that was that other people came with feedback, welcome or not. You can also hone your profile into a more presentable "you" by putting emphasis on some and be vague about others, all under the very protective blanket of relative anonimity. What you cannot control is how it is percieved. So it can be compared to hunting blindfolded with an unexhaustable paintgun (it's for fun, baby, not violence), shooting wildly around and then having a look what you hit: hey a tree, hey another tree, oops a dog, oh god... my own back... how the f.. did I manage that?
But this is getting a bit heavy for a morning blog in the lovely sunshine in the gardens of Duck Towers. Back to shoes, me thinks.
I have to make this statement: If anyone, ANYONE, ever catches me wearing those godawfull flipping butt-ugly multicoloured eyesore abominations of shoes called C-R-O-C-S, (I can't even pronounce it, it makes me gag). If you do, you have to shoot me pronto as I will have gone COMPLETELY mad and very probably RABID! I will be a liability to YOUR little children so please, have mercy and finish me off! Should a gun not be readily available, a short swift snap of my graceful neck will do the trick as well. And then, don't bother with a coffin for the pyrotechics. Please spend the money on a pair of Louboutins, I will post a pic on a wishlist, the silver ones... and lob my shoes into the cardboard box with me. And when my box disappears into the flaming pits I want "These boots are made for walking" by Nancy S. belting out of the system. After that you can go and have a party with a very strict dresscode: elegance and sophistication. Whoever shows up in Crocs can be stoned (as in "on the receiving end of very heavy rocks", let there be no misunderstanding!) in my honour and rememberance! A la bonheur!
There! Glad to get that off my chest!
mwuah, mwuah, mwuah, children, I'm off to my daily routines.
Catch you soon!
Currently listening: Boots by Nancy Sinatra
Current mood: energetic
It is a glorious morning here in the South West!
Duck Towers is a scene of idyllic bliss: the little birdies are twittering in the bushes, the crows are -ahum- crowing in the high trees, the recycling collectors are merrily launching empty bottles and cans in their containers, Freddy the squirel is desperately burrying his nuts and the little spider in the window has just wrapped up a huge bluebottle picnic - must have invited the family around.
Et moi? I am sitting in my girlie jimmyjams in the window, real just-out-of-bed hair style, with a cup of industrial strength Yorkshire tea and a bowl of porridge, debating what to do today.
Today, ExBoy's mum is returning from Spain as there was a sad loss in the family. Remember the Auntie that gave me a hard time couple of months ago? Passed away 2 days ago - after a nasty illness, I hasten to add. Nothing to do with occult powers from my side. Anyway, I made my peace with her in visiting her a couple of times in these last weeks. Nobody deserves to be lonely at the end.
I have been slacking on the blog front, je m'excuse profondement. Not that my life suddenly got very exciting, au contraire mes amis... I have gone and bought myself a digital camera (finally) and you might as well know (drumroll): I couldn't resist a pair of strappy silver sandals as well!!!!!!!!... They are now officially the highest heels in da house, apart from the ones with platforms but that is cheating a bit. So, to get myself used to this new bit of complicated technology (it can do everything but make tea in the morning), I took pictures of my very modest shoe collection, personnaly posing with the highest. Then I whacked them on the computer, photoshopped a bit (= cropping the excess crap) and launched them on MySpazz pics under the caption "Chaud...chaud...chaussures" and defaulted a leggy, headless pic of myself (as you can still see). Well,.....what can I say? Suddenly every man and his dog wants to join my Friendly Horde. I get requests to go and walk all over some, endless offers of playing with my feet (and that's the decent ones...urgh)... to cut a long story short: My space is being inundated with visitors and not all of them equally welcome. So, without realising, I added to my daily tasks by having to muck out the muck.
The upside is to discover there are some normal people around who can see beyond the shoe thing and have a proper look at my work. ("a very good morning, you know who you are!") But it has me thinking about this MySpace thing again. Personally, I used it to be noticed (not half work the last couple of days...) and to vent my spleen about my life as it has been for the last year (sort of pretty crappy). It's like keeping an open diary and the good thing about that was that other people came with feedback, welcome or not. You can also hone your profile into a more presentable "you" by putting emphasis on some and be vague about others, all under the very protective blanket of relative anonimity. What you cannot control is how it is percieved. So it can be compared to hunting blindfolded with an unexhaustable paintgun (it's for fun, baby, not violence), shooting wildly around and then having a look what you hit: hey a tree, hey another tree, oops a dog, oh god... my own back... how the f.. did I manage that?
But this is getting a bit heavy for a morning blog in the lovely sunshine in the gardens of Duck Towers. Back to shoes, me thinks.
I have to make this statement: If anyone, ANYONE, ever catches me wearing those godawfull flipping butt-ugly multicoloured eyesore abominations of shoes called C-R-O-C-S, (I can't even pronounce it, it makes me gag). If you do, you have to shoot me pronto as I will have gone COMPLETELY mad and very probably RABID! I will be a liability to YOUR little children so please, have mercy and finish me off! Should a gun not be readily available, a short swift snap of my graceful neck will do the trick as well. And then, don't bother with a coffin for the pyrotechics. Please spend the money on a pair of Louboutins, I will post a pic on a wishlist, the silver ones... and lob my shoes into the cardboard box with me. And when my box disappears into the flaming pits I want "These boots are made for walking" by Nancy S. belting out of the system. After that you can go and have a party with a very strict dresscode: elegance and sophistication. Whoever shows up in Crocs can be stoned (as in "on the receiving end of very heavy rocks", let there be no misunderstanding!) in my honour and rememberance! A la bonheur!
There! Glad to get that off my chest!
mwuah, mwuah, mwuah, children, I'm off to my daily routines.
Catch you soon!
Currently listening: Boots by Nancy Sinatra
Art in Action
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Current mood: lonely
Me hartees (atchoo),
Scuze me for sneezing but I'm not too well.
Having been to Art in Action to assist my mate M. together with A. in selling M.'s pebble & silver jewellery and camp over the 5 wettest days in one of the UK's most flooded regions did not help. On Friday morning my tent had water in the wine cellar... 20 cm of it by midday... Thankfully all contents were moved into the cars (6 fine bottles of Chateau Grelier 2000 included). It was moved to higher grounds when the downpours stopped for a couple of hours early evening. A.'s tent selfdestructed and was that waterproof that all the water that came in through the hole in the roof, stayed inside and sofly slopped over the edge of the groundsheet bit. M.'s tent was moved to where mine was, a distinctly better neighbourhood, next door to a famous contemporary jeweller (sort of like camping next to a saint), who very kindly let A. use hers.
And now it's Wednesday. My chest feels awfully tight scar side and I'm in bed dosed up with paracetamol and codeine. Seeing Doc tomorrow (he not there today) as I think I might be lining myself up for another pneumonia otherwise. Having done that last year, I do not wish to repeat the experience.
It's at moments like this you wish there was someone around that cared and brought you a cup of something hot.
But hey, look at the bright side... at least I'm in the dry, more than can be said of those poor inundated sods in Gloucester- and Oxfordshire.
Although "poor" is not the word associated with those counties now, is it?
Current mood: lonely
Me hartees (atchoo),
Scuze me for sneezing but I'm not too well.
Having been to Art in Action to assist my mate M. together with A. in selling M.'s pebble & silver jewellery and camp over the 5 wettest days in one of the UK's most flooded regions did not help. On Friday morning my tent had water in the wine cellar... 20 cm of it by midday... Thankfully all contents were moved into the cars (6 fine bottles of Chateau Grelier 2000 included). It was moved to higher grounds when the downpours stopped for a couple of hours early evening. A.'s tent selfdestructed and was that waterproof that all the water that came in through the hole in the roof, stayed inside and sofly slopped over the edge of the groundsheet bit. M.'s tent was moved to where mine was, a distinctly better neighbourhood, next door to a famous contemporary jeweller (sort of like camping next to a saint), who very kindly let A. use hers.
And now it's Wednesday. My chest feels awfully tight scar side and I'm in bed dosed up with paracetamol and codeine. Seeing Doc tomorrow (he not there today) as I think I might be lining myself up for another pneumonia otherwise. Having done that last year, I do not wish to repeat the experience.
It's at moments like this you wish there was someone around that cared and brought you a cup of something hot.
But hey, look at the bright side... at least I'm in the dry, more than can be said of those poor inundated sods in Gloucester- and Oxfordshire.
Although "poor" is not the word associated with those counties now, is it?
Brains, emotions and other crap
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Current mood: rejected
Ever heard of your amygdala?
Sounds like a goatee-woolen-sock-wearing word, doesn't it? (banging the finger cymbals together, OHM ing)
Nope, mes amis. We all have them, men and wimmen alike. Almondshape neuroprocessor thingies in your brains! Oh... and guess what? The circuits running through them are affected by surges and plunges in the oestrogen and progesterone houshold more commony referred to as the menstrual cycle (wimmen, of course) thus effectively altering reality as perceived...
So, you DO go bananas when your period is due, ladies! The brain circuits between the amygdala and the prefrontal cortex responsible for emotional assessment and judgment area are fully functional and consistent AFTER the menopause.
To quote Dr Louanne Brizendine: "51 1/2 years is the average age of menopause, which starts 12 months after a woman's last period when the ovaries have stopped producing the hormones that boosted her communication circuits, emotion circuits, the drive to tend and care and the urge to avoid conflict. With the oestrogen down, the oxytocin is down as well. She is less interested in the nuances of emotions; she's less concerned about keeping the peace and she's getting less of a dopamine rush from the things she did before, even talking with her friends. She's not getting the calming oxytocin reward of tending and caring (...), so she is less inclined to be as attentive to others' personal needs. " - in simple Duck Speak: we turn into men! (without the equipment kept in action by blue diamond shaped pills)
Why can we develop aforementioned pills for men to keep up appearances, but not to sort out short circuiting amygdala thingies?... Surely nothing to do with priorities of anonymous men in pharmaceutical boardrooms?
But to be honest, bring it on! I'm sick of having housed a system that never worked for which it was designed... apart from excruciating pains every month, being concidered unclean by some religious types, going through the madness of it and being perceived as completely bonkers. I'm quite looking forward to be an inconsiderate person that can trample all over some one else's feelings without a sliver of remorse or empathy... and to get away with it.
But before that there's the perimenopause, where everything goes tits up (apart from your real tits deciding to go South, however small they are...). Ideal time to get dumped on then.
Current mood: rejected
Ever heard of your amygdala?
Sounds like a goatee-woolen-sock-wearing word, doesn't it? (banging the finger cymbals together, OHM ing)
Nope, mes amis. We all have them, men and wimmen alike. Almondshape neuroprocessor thingies in your brains! Oh... and guess what? The circuits running through them are affected by surges and plunges in the oestrogen and progesterone houshold more commony referred to as the menstrual cycle (wimmen, of course) thus effectively altering reality as perceived...
So, you DO go bananas when your period is due, ladies! The brain circuits between the amygdala and the prefrontal cortex responsible for emotional assessment and judgment area are fully functional and consistent AFTER the menopause.
To quote Dr Louanne Brizendine: "51 1/2 years is the average age of menopause, which starts 12 months after a woman's last period when the ovaries have stopped producing the hormones that boosted her communication circuits, emotion circuits, the drive to tend and care and the urge to avoid conflict. With the oestrogen down, the oxytocin is down as well. She is less interested in the nuances of emotions; she's less concerned about keeping the peace and she's getting less of a dopamine rush from the things she did before, even talking with her friends. She's not getting the calming oxytocin reward of tending and caring (...), so she is less inclined to be as attentive to others' personal needs. " - in simple Duck Speak: we turn into men! (without the equipment kept in action by blue diamond shaped pills)
Why can we develop aforementioned pills for men to keep up appearances, but not to sort out short circuiting amygdala thingies?... Surely nothing to do with priorities of anonymous men in pharmaceutical boardrooms?
But to be honest, bring it on! I'm sick of having housed a system that never worked for which it was designed... apart from excruciating pains every month, being concidered unclean by some religious types, going through the madness of it and being perceived as completely bonkers. I'm quite looking forward to be an inconsiderate person that can trample all over some one else's feelings without a sliver of remorse or empathy... and to get away with it.
But before that there's the perimenopause, where everything goes tits up (apart from your real tits deciding to go South, however small they are...). Ideal time to get dumped on then.
Dogs
Friday, July 13, 2007
Current mood: blank
The difference between cats and dogs?
You can kick a dog repeatedly and it'll still come and lick your hand when you address it friendly. A cat? Forget it! She'll just adopt another family and play with prey before leisurely killing it.
It sucks that I'm more in tune with my inner dog...
One day I'll turn rabid and hopefully they'll call a vet. Until then I'll wag my tail. And bring back the ball, and walk proudly, collared. More honour in a sheep, really.
Grandma always said that bitches turn if they didn't have a litter. People should pay attention to what old folk say.
Current mood: blank
The difference between cats and dogs?
You can kick a dog repeatedly and it'll still come and lick your hand when you address it friendly. A cat? Forget it! She'll just adopt another family and play with prey before leisurely killing it.
It sucks that I'm more in tune with my inner dog...
One day I'll turn rabid and hopefully they'll call a vet. Until then I'll wag my tail. And bring back the ball, and walk proudly, collared. More honour in a sheep, really.
Grandma always said that bitches turn if they didn't have a litter. People should pay attention to what old folk say.
Tomorrow
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
Current mood: contemplative
Hey all,
I am in a funny mood... funny as in peculiar, not as haha.
Look at the date: tomorrow is Independance Day.
One of the few things I will have in common with our American friends, since last year.
Is it a celebration?
Maybe I should turn it into one?
I could have breakfast in bed with a glass of champers, then weather providing go for a run on the bike to... mmm, let me see, Avebury springs to mind for one or other reason. Lovely place. Toodle back. Have nice shower and dress up full monty. Cook a lovely meal, more champagne and a nice red. Problem is... I have to do it on my own. And I feel a bit too fragile for that.
't Would be nice to share it with someone special.
I probably want too much. So I wont do anything. Just have a little cry. In private. (after telling the whole world here...)
Let's face it on a worldscale this is extreme navel gazing stuff.
Doesn't make it feel alright, though.
Current mood: contemplative
Hey all,
I am in a funny mood... funny as in peculiar, not as haha.
Look at the date: tomorrow is Independance Day.
One of the few things I will have in common with our American friends, since last year.
Is it a celebration?
Maybe I should turn it into one?
I could have breakfast in bed with a glass of champers, then weather providing go for a run on the bike to... mmm, let me see, Avebury springs to mind for one or other reason. Lovely place. Toodle back. Have nice shower and dress up full monty. Cook a lovely meal, more champagne and a nice red. Problem is... I have to do it on my own. And I feel a bit too fragile for that.
't Would be nice to share it with someone special.
I probably want too much. So I wont do anything. Just have a little cry. In private. (after telling the whole world here...)
Let's face it on a worldscale this is extreme navel gazing stuff.
Doesn't make it feel alright, though.
Nothing in particular
Monday, July 02, 2007
Current mood:deflated
Salut mes amis,
It's raining cats and dogs, it's cold and I'm wearing a hat in flippin July! What happened to that summer to end all summers?... drowned probably!
After a deafening silence of weeks I reappear like the proverbial bad penny. J'en ai marre! Super marre!
What's up? I hear you ask. Nothing, that's what, boys and girls. Zilch, Zibideedoohdah! Now, what was I going on about last? Ah yes, ExBoy calling me fat and hence not worthy of his everlasting attentions. It seems that my insecurity buttons have all been pressed then and I've been feeling crappy ever since. It doesn't help to go shopping in Asda, gore fest for track suit anoraks! What do you see there? you ask. Women of all ages and sizes like in big, enormous and humongous, but they all seem to have a bloke in tow... unlike muggins here. What can I say but it seems that a simple shit attracts more attention than moi... Like I'm the invisible woman wandering in this paralel universe, banging against the invisible partitions to no avail.
Of course, this is wallowing in self pity of Himalayan proportion. Exagerration is a style figure with humourous potential. Laughing at some one's pain can be more than simple slapstick. Not funny if you're at the receiving end but then I always aim to please, me hartees.
I've been buying too many shoes of late, the spikey high heeled variety...much to the amusement of my little fanclub. I was even on a promise of some really outrageous ones but that fell through... Think I'm compensating for something? And it won't be the lack of height I was born with either I’m referring to here. No, this is from a different order all together. Compensating comfort shopping for high heeled loneliness. It sucks but at least it looks good!
So can anyone tell me, anyone? What the bleedin' f*** is wrong with me?
Please?
Current mood:deflated
Salut mes amis,
It's raining cats and dogs, it's cold and I'm wearing a hat in flippin July! What happened to that summer to end all summers?... drowned probably!
After a deafening silence of weeks I reappear like the proverbial bad penny. J'en ai marre! Super marre!
What's up? I hear you ask. Nothing, that's what, boys and girls. Zilch, Zibideedoohdah! Now, what was I going on about last? Ah yes, ExBoy calling me fat and hence not worthy of his everlasting attentions. It seems that my insecurity buttons have all been pressed then and I've been feeling crappy ever since. It doesn't help to go shopping in Asda, gore fest for track suit anoraks! What do you see there? you ask. Women of all ages and sizes like in big, enormous and humongous, but they all seem to have a bloke in tow... unlike muggins here. What can I say but it seems that a simple shit attracts more attention than moi... Like I'm the invisible woman wandering in this paralel universe, banging against the invisible partitions to no avail.
Of course, this is wallowing in self pity of Himalayan proportion. Exagerration is a style figure with humourous potential. Laughing at some one's pain can be more than simple slapstick. Not funny if you're at the receiving end but then I always aim to please, me hartees.
I've been buying too many shoes of late, the spikey high heeled variety...much to the amusement of my little fanclub. I was even on a promise of some really outrageous ones but that fell through... Think I'm compensating for something? And it won't be the lack of height I was born with either I’m referring to here. No, this is from a different order all together. Compensating comfort shopping for high heeled loneliness. It sucks but at least it looks good!
So can anyone tell me, anyone? What the bleedin' f*** is wrong with me?
Please?
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