(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