Author Archives: Scarlet

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About Scarlet

A refugee from Blogger.

Christmas 2020

Good evening. I bring you this blog post from my sofa. I am whiskey sodden and a little triffled, but this won’t stop me typing up my Christmas post. 
Earlier in the week I was supposed to seek out virtual pressies [as per Dinah’s fabulous meme] for all my blog chums. I thought long and hard about what each individual would desire; I kept a detailed and extensive list in my head. Sadly, I have now forgotten all of it – there might have been a jukebox for Jon, a Tribble for Mr Devine, some old books for Mr Mags, Kew Gardens for Dinah, a box of Codfanglers for Mistress Maddie, a quill for Mr Batarde, a 1960’s cocktail set for Mistress MJ, something pertinent for Nick [soz, clueless, all I can think of is a false beard right now],and a permanent residence in Hollywood for Savvy. But seeing as how I have forgotten all of this, and am incapable of doing links on this device, I have decided that because I am the global ambassador for Ferrero Rocher that I will simply shower everyone with golden nuts instead. Does this make any sense? Am really not sure. Whatever. Shall we see if I can include a tune? What tune?

Happy Christmas!

Bill, I have forgotten Bill. Damn it. Bill must have extra chocolate. And a new drone.

And Looby – I promised an M&S voucher, or was it S&M?
I am going to be editing this post forever… for Rimpy, I was thinking maybe a green pair of shorts would suffice? And Kylie – maybe her dream job?
I will shut up now. The year has been tough enough without me rambling on for the rest of the evening into the ether. HAPPY CHRISTMAS!!

A Festive Flashback…. [The Ghost of Christmas Past]

Time to get in a festive mood, so here is a flashback from November 2008 – HERE

‘Here come the girls…’ is the chant from the new Boots Christmas advert, obviously pandering to it’s female market by illustrating how women are better at organisation than men.

To do this Boots have made a short ‘fly-on-the-wall’ documentary about a group of women who are in the advanced stages of ‘Secret Santa’.  Each woman has pulled a colleague’s name out of Santa hat, and now they’re stampeding, like a cattle dressed in tinsel, to Boots to buy cheap and cheerful goods for Christmas. One of the token blokes is shown as being so incompetent that he is seen trying to gift wrap a stapler.

Part of me dislikes this ad because I think it encourages men to wallow in the myth that they are  incapable at choosing suitable gifts, and thus it discourages them from putting any effort into doing any Christmas shopping. Basically, women get lumbered with present finding. It’s not on. Being a man is not an excuse to be useless.

Anyhow, I do like that this ad is set in an office, and I like the tune, but I think that Boots are missing out all the good bits that only happen at Christmas, so I suggest a ‘Here come the girls’ sequel. In the sequel, Boots join forces with the people who make the alcohol awareness information films and together they show the true horrors that are unwrapped at the annual office party.

Firstly there is always a weeping wailing woman who sobs into her soup for 3hrs, making horrible stains across the tablecloth. In a drunken stupor she confesses loudly that she has been sleeping with the Group Operations Director for the last 3 months, but now he’s dumped her for a bright and shiny 18yr old receptionist. Nobody is surprised by this revelation as the GOD has form.

Then focus should shift to the couple who throughout the year have been working each other up into a sexual frenzy with furtive glances and breathy tension. At the Christmas party they cross the line of no return resulting in a ripped shirt, laddered tights and a pair of lost knickers. The next day he brags, and she denies. It takes another 6 months of furtive glances and breathy tension before they do the exact same thing at the company cheese and wine party. Six years later they get married. And buy a bungalow.

Finally there’s the drunken blonde floosey whose party piece is to snog everyone under the mistletoe and declare undying love, forever and ever, to anyone who’ll listen. She then takes it upon herself to entertain her colleagues by scrambling unassisted onto the table to belt out a rousing chorus of ‘I Will Survive’, just before flashing her tits at her boss and throwing up in his lap . Oops.

At least we don’t have to put up with this nightmare in 2020.

The ‘Did I Win Yet?’ Competition/Award

Because I won the first ‘Did I Win Yet?’ competition, way back in January 2020, hosted by the lovely Mr Devine HERE, I now have the joyous pleasure of hosting the second! Yay!!

So what is the ‘Did I Win Yet?’ competition? It is simply a way to honour our old friend Mr Lax. And this competition/award can take any format I fancy! I am so relieved that it doesn’t have to be a quiz – I can instead make it easy. Thank goodness, as I think we have all been a little mentally overtaxed this year.

To win the ‘Did I Win Yet’ award 2021 please complete the following sections:-

Section 1 – The Quiz Bit

Q1. Many years ago Ms Scarlet had a dream about Mr Lax. In this dream Mr Lax instructed Ms Scarlet to do what? Was it:

a) Feed his cats

b) Mind the gap

c) Feed somebody else’s cats

d) Mind the cranberry sauce

Q2. What does LX mean?

a) No, seriously what does LX mean? Did we ever find out?

b) It means XL

c) Something to do with engineering

d) Nothing in particular

Section 2 – The Creative Bit

For this section I would like you to write out your favourite quote as adventurously as you dare; place it on a chair of your choice; photograph it; and then send this picture to me for me to examine with my keen eye for all types of writing.

That’s it!! This is all you have to do to enter the ‘Did I Win Yet?’ competition!! We’ve had gardening competitions, so it’s about time we had a handwriting compo!

The competition is open as soon as I publish this post. The deadline is 10th January 2021. The winner/s will be announced on 17th January 2021. Please send your entries to scarlet@wonky-words.com. Please remember to include responses to both sections. The prize is the honour of hosting the next ‘Did I Win Yet?’ competition; the exclusive right to put the following on your sideboard:-

AND, I might send you a little something if you want me to. I look forward to receiving your entries, and will continually pester you until you do.

Getting Better

I bring pictures! I bring calligraphy! I bring tidings of joy! I bring a couple of heartfelt messages! I bring a toaster; a cuddly toy; a can of baked beans, and several vintage maps of Blackpool on a sunny afternoon. Never say I bring you nothing. But be aware that my hands are full.

Firstly, as promised, here are a couple of my Halloween collages:-

halloween-collage

collage for halloween exchange

And a little calligraphy:-

white-copperplate-variation-on red-envelope

My heartfelt messages:-

1) If you are a nighttime jaw clencher [bruxer] then NEVER EVER sleep on your back! Don’t even dream about it. It could possibly bring you no end of excruciatingly painful problems. And ruin your teeth.

2) Over the past two months I have become aware of some unusual activity in my blog stats, as in hits on old personal posts that rarely get read after they’ve been published and commented on. Posts featuring calligraphy are always popular, but the personal ones – not so much – years can go by before some poor soul alights on one of those, but recently they have been much sought after. At first I was flattered! Yay, somebody loves me! And then I stopped taking the drugs, and wondered if someone was profiling me for nefarious purposes? If so then please note that this blog is a minefield of misinformation, the truth is that I am 37 years old, I am French [hence the surname: Blue], and I live with five cats on an Alpaca farm somewhere near Newcastle. Just so you know.

3) If you are not profiling me for nefarious purposes and you are actually Aidan Turner, then don’t be a stranger – give me a call! My email address is right there!! There on the front page!!! Oh, for goodness sake HERE  – at the bottom of the page!

Shall we have some Sunday Music? Why not? I have just finished watching The Queen’s Gambit on Netflix and now want to download the soundtrack.

Flashback Friday – The Fanny Club

When not composing her much loved symphony in D minor, which she did often and wisely, Fanny Mountjoy-Williams could be found picking up stray boys from the streets of Dungeness. Her mission was to round them up and escort them to school, thus ensuring that they received an education of sorts. Some people mistook Fanny’s activities as being purely altruistic, and seldom suspected that Fanny had an ulterior motive. Few people knew it, but during the early sixties Fanny had been recruited as the International Global Universal Ambassador for Persil soap powder. Fanny took her promotional duties seriously although she was not adverse to mischievous tinkering.

In her role as ambassador, Fanny would locate a random urchin, preferably grubby from playing on the bomb-sites, and then clothe him in a shirt that had been soaked for several months in a solution of 5 parts hydrogen peroxide, 7 parts ammonia, 4 parts baking soda, 9 parts arsenic, and 1 part plutonium [do not try this at home]. This recipe would guarantee that the shirt would glow brilliantly with a blinding whiteness.

As we are all aware, Fanny Mountjoy-Williams was a formidable woman – by the age of twelve she had already written a groundbreaking thesis on high wire acrobatics and aerial fire eating, which in turn led to her being nominated for a Nobel prize in chemistry, so it is of no surprise that other women were easily impressed by her lofty demeanour, and by the luminous urchin that would often accompany her on her jaunts around town. Who could blame these women for peeking into Fanny’s basket and, on seeing the box of Persil, jumping to the wrong conclusion. Thanks to Fanny Mountjoy-Williams and her novel approach to marketing, Boxes of Persil flew off the supermarket shelves, but sadly these new consumers were left dismayed and disappointed because their children refused to glow, they instead remained dismal, dull, and decidedly grim in comparison to Fanny’s urchin.

Not a woman to miss an opportunity, Fanny realised that she could make a pretty penny from selling her secret recipe to laundry obsessed mothers at the school gates. Eventually, due to demand, she formed The Fanny Club, collectively known as The Fannies. They were a large group of discerning women [think Tunbridge Wells] who would meet every other Tuesday for Fanny workshops to discuss folding techniques, and what to do with two large sheets in a high wind. The club motto, which they would recite at the start of all club meetings, was as follows:- Persil washes whiter and it shows, but with a touch of Fanny it really, really glows.

In 1975 the Fannies were disbanded after a member complained that the secret recipe had been the cause of an unsightly rash on her rear. Overuse of baking soda was believed to be the cause.

Originally posted HERE
Also, none of this will make any sense until you watch the Youtube :-) And then it’ll make even less sense.

COMING SOON:- Something new!!! Maybe.

Until…. [Part 2]

….I went rummaging through my old blog looking for an old advert post for mascara when I found this instead, from 2009. Shocked!!! Did I really write such things??? I’m not even sure if I should republish this…..but I am going to because this blog has been far too gloomy lately, and this is a different spin on toothache.

This is possibly one of my worst posts, EVER. From HERE

Cathy is not a dentist [she states this quite clearly]. She has spent the last 4 months detained at Her Majesty’s pleasure in Holloway as punishment for making films featuring scenes of torture and abuse; she is now unemployed but enjoys dressing up as an air hostess. Cathy has toothache, and an oral fetish; she has now broken into the dental surgery to polish some instruments. Mr Davis [the real dentist] is startled to find her in his surgery handling his scarifying tool, and a tube of toothpaste, but he is impressed by her tonguing action, and he has a professional interest in her misshapen mandibles. Because of his attention, Cathy gets a little overexcited and flashes her Crest. In a fit of wild abandon Cathy slips and knocks out her front tooth on the narcosis apparatus. She is crestfallen. Mr Davis ushers her into his black leather chair for a thorough examination. Cathy sighs as she feels him in her mouth – she is in her element, she begins to froth and lets him poke around until he fills her all of her cavities….

Soz.