Tag Archives: Charmaine

Farewell 2020….

….and good riddance. I was going to write some sort of review of my blogging year, but it mostly consisted of storms in February; wild trampolines; a lot of whinging regarding an ongoing cold; and a lot of whining about my teeth. That was it. I was going to contact my doctor today regarding some other complaint, but now I’ve forgotten what it was – possibly something to do with still not being able to chew properly, or somesuch. I’m sure he will be pleased not to hear from me as I’m guessing he might have more pressing matters to attend to.

Meanwhile, I have been asked to judge a Haiku competition. No, I haven’t a clue why either – something to do with Charmaine living it large on a neighbouring Crossword blog, HERE, with cousin Batarde. I have read all the entries, my favourite is by Dtw42 [I accept the edit because I am kind like that and can’t add up either] and is as follows:-

Slate-grey Basingstoke skies;

cold, yet still no snow. The

duvet’s siren call.

I am hoping I am not responsible for supplying the prize?! It’s been one of those years where I’ve said yes to FAR TOO MUCH, and I am STILL suffering the consequences.

And talking of snow…. IT IS SNOWING HERE!!!! I did have a video to upload but none of my devices or apps are talking to each other, perhaps they have locked down to avoid some sort of hideous virus?

So a tune instead – I have been playing this a lot this month, sort of festive, cheerful and the closest I’ll get to a party tonight….

Ha! And I still have that necklace!! HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!! May it live up to all our expectations!!!

Oh my goodness – did it work? Did I not break anything? Well this must be a first. Crikey.

Swede Dreams

Ilaid back on my chaise longue, which is a worn purple velvet affair swamped with grubby throws and cushions, Charmaine loomed above me – glasses poised at the end of her nose – notebook and pencil in hand.

“I have to practice, Aunt Scarlet, now close your eyes and relax”

I muttered something about wishing I’d taught her modern calligraphy. It was my own fault that I was now being subjected to Charmaine’s latest fancy, which was to train as a dream counsellor.

“Would you like to have a go with my vintage 303 nib?” I asked, with a pleading intonation.

Charmaine ignored me and chewed the end of her pencil as she flicked through her notebook. She looked displeased, and in exasperation she threw the notebook aside and took a huge tome from a picnic basket that she had dragged into my studio from the hallway. The huge tome thudded onto my desk causing my collection of tiny bears to topple over.

Opening the Dictionary of Dreams, Charmaine thumbed through the pages in an expert fashion, but couldn’t seem to find what she was looking for. I knew this because her brows had knitted themselves into a puzzled frown.

“So you’re saying that he was creeping up to your house across a muddy field? He looked like a scarecrow and every time you looked out of the window he froze and stood still? He wasn’t chasing you? You were making soup? And you felt strongly that it was Autumn, and that the scarecrow was Swedish?”

“I didn’t say he was Swedish! I said he was a swede! Look you silly girl, it was exactly like this…”

Charmaine’s brows unravelled to reveal a wide-eyed expression and I swear she looked almost relieved, but also a tad annoyed. In my defence I seldom remember my dreams, but she was so keen; I didn’t think it would hurt to be inventive.

gilded-letter-t-contemporary-lettering-and-modern-calligraphy-uk

The Dramatic Entrance….

Charmaine has returned home from her stint at being a genius crossword compiler. Apparently there was an ‘incident’ at Cousin Windsor’s [a right Batarde] that she will not speak of. Knowing my Cousin Windsor, trying to forget about it is the best way forward, and I will not press her further for information. With her she brought a picnic basket, which upon arrival she dumped in the hallway before ascending to her rightful place in my attic. Such a pity that in her absence the attic sprang a leak, so it came as no surprise to hear her shouting, screaming, and possibly stamping a bit before stomping back downstairs to disturb my revelry by bursting into my studio in an overtly stroppy manner.

‘What is the problem, child?’ I asked, barely looking up from whatever I was looking at.

‘The roof is leaking, all my clothes are soaked through and there is bird poo all over my vintage bakelite collection. And I bet you haven’t paid this?’

Charmaine stood in front of my desk waving a piece of paper. It was the electricity bill. I smiled wanly as the lights dimmed and then went out.

‘Obvously not,’ I said.

‘There’s nothing else for it, Aunt Scarlet, you’ll have to reopen the wedding calligraphy business, we can’t carry on living like this.’

And I said, ‘NO, NO, NO!’

I sighed, she did have a point, I had rather let things slide over the past five months, and it was true the roof was leaking, the paint was peeling and, much much worse than this, we were running out of gruel. Thankfully, at the back of my mind I had a spare plan.
I looked Charmaine up and down and considered how much money I could get for her if I advertised her dextrous skills on the right type of Internet site. She could look quite fetching in the dark, it suited her skin tone.

‘NO, NO, NO!’ Shrieked Charmaine as if reading my blog post over my shoulder as I typed.

‘Well, what do you suggest we do?’

‘These,’ said Charmaine, stabbing my latest creations with her stumpy index finger, ‘flog these, everybody loves a bit of gold and a bit of bling.’

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Flog these???

‘How?’

‘Don’t worry, Aunt Scarlet, leave the marketing to me, I have ideas, and Asmodeus will help.’

With the hazy image of Asmodeus hanging in the air, Charmaine flounced out of my studio in a purposeful, determined, #girlboss sort of way. Who the hell was Asmodeus? I shook my head dismissively. The girl had obviously gone a bit peculiar, but still, her positive ‘can do’ attitude had made me feel uneasy. Cousin Windsor had obviously instilled these ideas, ideas that were well above her station, and possibly above the steeple at the end of the lane, which was very high above indeed. I shuddered in my seat and felt a little faint because if she was successful it would mean that I would [heaven forbid] have to work.

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Work in progress…

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Now c ‘ere…

A Brand Spanking New Year

Ihave news!!! I have located Charmaine, after months of traipsing through the internet, following up sightings of her peculiar take on the ancient art of calligraphy, I have located her on a cryptic crossword site run by my cousin Windsor (a right Batarde!). She is masquerading as some sort of genius and giving out clues to fiendishly difficult crosswords like jelly babies. She is also appearing in pantomime as Cinderella at the end of Wigan pier.
I have sent her a letter urging her to return home soon as, with the promise of improved living conditions and use of the black and white telly on Sundays. I have also signed her up for some proper modern calligraphy lessons in London, which I hope she will review for us here. I am sure she will find this offer irresistible as she has had her eye on my black and white telly for some time now.

Meanwhile, there is no news of Harold.

And here is some calligraphy related stuff….

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Four gilded letters…

 

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‘t’

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‘g’

My resolution for 2016 is to glue more 23 carat gold on paper in a meaningful way.

Happy New Year!!!!!!! I will be pissed later and will probably making gruesome advances to all and sundry – apologies in advance.

Wishful Thinking…

Thank you for all your kind messages regarding the disappearance of Charmaine and Harold. I am continuing my search as I type. I am on the 13.04 train from Aberdeen to London, Kings Cross. I have no idea why.

Meanwhile, this tune has been playing on my mind. It is very annoying.

Is it me, or do both lyrics and video make no sense whatsoever?? Please be careful how you answer this question, and furthermore, did anything make sense in the eighties?

Oh good… there is a lady coming down the aisle with the drinks trolley… please excuse me… I will report back with any news next Thursday.

Thank you for your patience, and please Mind the Gap.

Sx

Hello

Aunt Scarlet is refusing to write a post and has told me to do it. She said to say that she is lanquishing on a chase lounge and MUST not be disturbed. Apparently she is writing a long letter to a bloke she refers to as Moogo, or Moorgo, or something like that. She has lots of other people to write to too, such as Princess, and some calligraphy people. She keeps getting in a huff because she is trying to write in her best calligraphy but it keeps going all wrong and she is surrounded by screwed up bits of paper. She is making a mess and is causing a potential fire hazard because she is drinking gin and smoking her horrible fags. She is also swearing a lot.

Aunt Scarlet said that when I write a post I MUST include some photographs. She said to take some pictures of her screwed up balls to show that she is trying to make an effort.

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Screwed up balls

Whilst being locked in the attic and fed nothing but gruel, I found these bottles. I asked Aunt Scarlet what they were supposed to be. She flew into a rage and did more swearing and told me to never ask her about them ever again. I think she is a bit mad.

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Aunt Scarlet’s empties that aren’t so empty…

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A bottle in a bottle

By the way, Harold and I don’t eat the gruel that Aunt Scarlet makes us. We throw it out the window and go up the chippy. We have the spare key to the attic.

Will write soon,

Charmaine.