Here we see Louise, she’s been feeling a bit dowdy lately having recently been dumped by her boyfriend; for the past week she’s been holed up in her bedroom scoffing chocolate and peanut butter sandwiches. She’s also been devouring self-help books, her two favourites being, ‘How To Get More Than Even’ and ‘Men Are From An Entirely Different Planet Altogether’. To cheer herself up, and to help her face the world again, Louise has decided that she needs a make-over. It only takes five hours, three boxes of Nice’n Easy Natural Baby Blonde, and forty-five ruined towels to turn Louise’s mousy brown locks into a brillo pad of ginger. Louise sobs, wishing she’d done a strand test first as per the instructions on the box, but who ever does? She spends the rest of the evening drinking neat gin and avoiding her reflection in the mirror. In the morning she awakes, still slightly sloshed, but remembers that her Dad keeps a selection of wigs in his dressing-up box. She chooses ‘The Cher’, in natural nylon – it’s bright red, but what the heck it’s better than the ginger brillo. She tops off her new look with a pink crochet beret. Feeling a shade braver she heads out the door to her local salon, hoping against hope that they can fix the damage. On her way she passes a shoe shop and is transfixed by a pair of red stilettos in the window, but there, looming behind the display, is Catty-Mean-Mouth-Bitch-Face-Fanny – the last person you want to see when you’re feeling less than your best. Louise, still fuelled by gin, whips off her beret and tosses her mane of nylon cherry red hair; she struts into the shop and she buys those shoes [you go girl]. We see her striding up the High Street to the salon like a graceful 7ft pillar box on a trolley, towering over all other pedestrians.
At the salon, Terry, who studied ‘Directional Hair Design with Pubic Topiary’ at Southend Tech, transforms her matted bush of ginger into a halo of golden blonde [amazing what can be achieved with industrial bleach, hair straighteners, and a pot of VO5]. Louise smiles at her reflection in the mirror, and it is in this moment she realises that life is never Nice’n Easy; Louise winks at Terry, and resolves that from now on she’s going to be easy’n nice….
Inever thought I’d see the day when Mr Devine’s blog turned pink… I have rivers of mascara down to my chin… it started with a giggle, and finished with sobs of mirth. I am so sorry, but thank you Dinah, and thank you Mr Devine…. my endorphins are replenished.
When two blogs collide…
Maybe, it was a case of having to be there… but it tickled me. Right, I need to compose myself into something sensible….
*UPDATE* 4th May 2018
My efforts to compose myself have been in vain, and due to the sobbing and general gasping of breath, Sid will no longer stay in the same room as me… anyhow, here is a screenshot, taken on my iPad, of the pink vastness with Mitzi’s blog attached to it…
Mitzi in pink….
Oh, an opportunity for favourite tune…
My fingers stuttered over my keyboard as I tried to write a birthday post for my blogging chum, Mr Devine. I wanted to say something more than: Happy Birthday, Big Boy!!! I wanted to write a post that would be memorable, considered, heart-felt, and almost as good as eating a ludicrously overfilled cake. I stared at the screen, my cursor blinking unhelpfully.
Perhaps a glorious picture of the Devon sky at night with a shooting star would impress him…..
Devon sky at night with shooting star? Or close-up of a black piece of paper?
Or maybe he would be filled with joy to see a picture of a crashed UFO that turned up on my doorstep on Sunday?
Snow drift… or crashed UFO?
And then I remembered…. I had just the thing….a bird with a very long beak!!!! Even better, an unidentified bird with a very long beak!!!
Beaky has gotten beakier….
I had done it!!! I had surpassed myself!!! With this birthday post I was spoiling everyone!!! And, there was only one thing left to say to Mr Devine: Happy Birthday, Big Boy!!!!
Apologies for my tardy, and possibly tawdry felicitations. I have been involved in a minor mishap involving Storm Eleanor, a tree, and a muddy public footpath. The dog was also there, but is a blameless innocent creature. It was my own stupid fault for trying to jump down from the trunk of a fallen tree and misjudging the distance from trunk to ground. I landed badly, twisted my ankle, and possibly caused some damage to my knee. I shall gloss over the part where I nearly passed out in a deserted country lane. I am not one to make a fuss, it’s not like I was going to lay there undiscovered for weeks on end – hell, if the worst came to the worst I could have simply pulled out my smart phone and published a blog post to alert people of my distress, failing that I could have rung the emergency services.
Anyhow, all is well now, other than a twinge in my knee, and I still feel a bit odd. As part of my recovery process I have been propped up on the sofa watching box sets. So far I have watched all seasons of Stranger Things; Feud; and The Tunnel. I have become something of a TV drama addict, so imagine how thrilled I was when Killer Women with Pie appeared on my TV guide….
New Bake Off!!!
What could this be? Could it be a new Bake Off programme featuring female serial killers showing off their soggy bottoms? Or was it about dangerous femme fatales with a weakness for pastry nibbles? Even better, was it a new psychological drama whereby a crusty British detective and his French female counterpart race against time to prevent a batch of mince pies from going stale midway between Folkestone and Calais? Sadly, it was none of these, it was Killer Women with a pasty, patronising geezer. Programme makers please note that Killer Women with Pie had so much more potential.
Happy New Year!!!! Here’s hoping that all major drama in 2018 is fictional and confined to our TV screens!
Who would have thought that purchasing a new bath mat could be so complicated, and that it would lead to me trawling through online dictionaries, wasting hours of time, when I could have been soaking in a…er… hot bath. It all started at Boots.com [the UK department store, which sells lotions and potions and all things smelly… talking of smelly, Mr Beastie has briefly resurfaced] whereupon I entered the words ‘bath’ and ‘mat’ in the search box.
Please see exhibit A – click to make big.
‘Did you mean to search for Bath Mat? Showing results for ‘max”, replied Boots.com. BUT I DID SEARCH FOR BATH MAT, I howled at the screen. I looked at the search box carefully. I scrutinised it, perhaps I’d typed in ‘enormous maximus’ by mistake as I am wont to do. It seems that Boots were not used to me enquiring about anything so prosaic as a bath mat. Why was I not indulging myself with cosmetics and tooth whitener as I usually do? Boots obviously thought it knew me better.
Please see exhibit B – click to make big.
I then had a brain wave, perhaps ‘bath mat’ is all one word… et voilà…. I found the virtual bathmat aisle. So I thought: fair enough, now I know that bathmat is one word…. but of course I had to check AND ALL THE DICTIONARIES DISAGREE. *WordPress doesn’t seem to like it; my Apple dictionary says NO. My Collins Gem dictionary has no trace of ‘bathmat’. Google seems confused. I am none the wiser…. but does it really matter?
Who cares how it’s spelt, all that matters is that I don’t slip in the bath and bruise my buttocks whilst taking a shower. I CARE. I BLOODY CARE. WHO AM I KIDDING TO SAY THAT I DON’T???????????? I WANT A DEFINITIVE ANSWER AND I WANT IT NOW. AND IF BATHMAT IS TWO WORDS I CAN WRITE TO BOOTS AND TELL THEM THEY ARE WRONG. WRONG. WRONG. WRONG. WRONG. WHAT RIGHT HAVE THEY GOT TO BASTARDISE THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE FOR THE SAKE OF THEIR NONSENSICAL STUPID FRUSTRATING STUPID DAFT BUGGERING ALGORITHMS?????
…and breathe. Life has been a tad stressful lately. I will now log off and feed the dog.
*To be fair, WordPress doesn’t seem keen on ‘Bastardise’ and ‘Buggering’ either, so it doesn’t know everything.
Before I continue with all things bottled I have a question: Who did you expect to be when you grew up? As a child I took it as read that I would grow up to be a sophisticated middle-aged woman who would travel the world wearing top of the range frocks from House of Fraser and make polite conversation, late into the night, with the occasional French gentleman. I believed my future would look something akin to this……
If this was not to be then I at least expected dinner party invitations for every night of the week so that I could stuff my face with After Eight mints whilst wearing the aforementioned top of the range frock, although perhaps something more slutty from Debenhams or British Home Stores [RIP]……
In a nutshell I expected a glittering, glamorous future, full of fancy frocks, and worthy enough to merit a pithy voiceover. When the transition from eating fish finger sandwiches from a tray on my lap in front of the telly to being an internationally adored lady of leisure with an inexhaustible expense account would happen I didn’t know, but happen it would. Only it didn’t. I am still waiting.
The problem is that the future I imagined is impossible because this future is very much set in the past. I was set up for disappointment the moment these adverts hit my TV screen. Did anyone ever live like this? In any case, the dinner parties I have attended have had more in common with this…
No fancy frocks, just best jeans and a paper napkin to protect a nice top from gravy staining. Sigh. Obviously I was a gullible child when I was suckered by these adverts, although in fairness, I was more taken with the lifestyles promoted than the actual products; we always had After Eights at Christmas and we were allowed to eat them for breakfast whilst wearing pyjamas.
Anyhow, before I get on with my bottle project let us return to my question: Who, or how, did you expect to be when you grew up? I am not expecting anyone to be as shallow as me, hopefully you all aspired to greater things than living life in an advertisement for After Eight.