GLUM... I've just found...

this strange new word.

Well to say I've just found it

might imply I'd lost it,

which of course common sense tells

me I can't have done.

Which ever way you look at it...

inside out, upside down,

back to front...

there's no getting away from it...

it's a jolly good word.

Four letters to boot.

On the face of it,

it more than tells you what

you need to know.

It doesn't ask for sympathy,

a toothsome word, 
an honest word,
not requiring

explanation.

People just get it.

In fact on hearing it this morning 

and feeling exactly that.

I adopted it, nay, I nicked it.

I carefully put it in my pocket and

walked off with it. 

Gently glum sat in my jumper, 

cosy and content.

 Cosy and content?

Perhaps not, because with

each step, it seeped out of my top,

slithered down my leg and fell

to earth, keen to get away.

I'm wasting my time here,

I'll look for pastures new.

It now sits on the path waiting

to hitch a ride.

If it's you it chooses

do what I did,

give it temporary residence

and move on.

Idly plucking the...

odd stray hair,

carefully waxing the pins,

I get to thinking...

the double standards

of women...

or to be more exact...

this woman.

Fickle is the word that

springs to mind.

When it comes to men

my bête noire is male vanity

i.e.

toupees

the proliferation of men

dying their hair to hide the grey.

Hair transplants.
Comb overs

Eye lifts

Face lifts

Botox

Comfort in their own skin
oozes sex appeal

Grey hair makes a man look more distinguished
Dyed hair... a prat.

Wrinkles signal they've been around the block...
experienced in the ways of the world.

Lines around the eyes...
sunbeams from the solar warmth
within.

Face lifts...
Try reading a lifted face...
Mills and Boon.

Untouched visage...
a tome...
War and Peace... 
worthy of a toothing.

Toupee...
a muff by any other name.

Comb over...
words fail me!

Surrounded by memories...

I'm in a happy place

Black and white photo's

of yore threaten like quicksand to

spirit me away

Every photograph, as if by magic

transports me back

I picture the scene

I smell the smells

I taste the food

I live the life

Doris hovers

Doris lives again

Every breath I take is

Doris

My blood is her

My skin

My bone

My life

She lives on

in me

Men... a strange phenomenon...

where would we be without them?

My thoughts and feelings about these 

wonderful creatures...

Why do they walk purposefully

up to the village each Saturday and

Sunday morning to get the papers.

Who suggested that beer

might be a good beverage 

for them to quaff?

Why do they always lie

when you ask...

'Does my bum look big in this?'

Football, cricket, golf...
is it the balls?

An obsession with remote controls...

A Freudian answer... 

possibly around

willies?

Who came up with the idea than

women should be swathed

head to toe in fabric?

Not a woman surely?

Why do decent men feel the

need to pick up the tab when

out on a date?

What bright spark suggested to

men that it's not a good idea

to talk about your

thoughts and feelings...

Stiff upper lip and all that stuff?

How come it's okay for a woman to
say things that a man never could?

Why are men better poets 
than women

How come men of all ages
know all the moves of 
Daddy dancing?

Why do men try not to cry?

Any to add?

I'm between a rock and...

a hard place.

Perhaps you can help me?

All my life I've spoken my mind,

sometimes not always with an air of diplomacy.

I try, oh how hard I try, not to say what I think, 

with or without the addition of knobs on.

I just don't know what to do for the best.
Should I put a sock in it permanently and try not to say 
what I think or feel?
Trouble with that is, I'm not being true to myself.
As I value truth over just about everything else,
the bottom line is I'm stuffed if I do, and 
I'm stuffed if I don't.

What do you think?

I've got a galloping case of...

the hijab heebeegeebees.

Call me old fashioned and Oh how

wrong you'd be... you want to

see me from this side: 

added to which my biker boots have 

just come out of summer hibernation;

so I can't be that decrepit.

I feel it so strongly that some women

are expected to swathe themselves

in fabric from head to toe...
It begs the question...
is that what they want?

Since I've put on a pound or two,

there's nothing I'd like better than

to throw the old candlewick

bedspread over my head, with a slit for my eyes

and waddle around to my hearts content, 

secure in the knowledge that folk wouldn't

know of the flabber-flubber beneath.

No worries, it'd have to be a King size,

all the better to accommodate

the Fortnam and Mason's hamper that I could

secrete about my person, to feed the

inner woman.

Let's think about suggesting to our

men they dress to please us.

'Keep it covered lads!'

For the tall and slim men they could

wear the green plastic rotary line cover that you can

buy in these funny catalogues that sell everything from

hernia supports to incontinence pants.

Tubbier men could customise a

yurt.

By the same token, in this country we have gone

completely the other way.

Girls think nothing of going out dressed in skirts

no bigger than curtain pelmets.

Muffs-a-go-go

Stilettos-a-trip-trip

And puke-a-huweey-huweey!

The world's gone raving mad.

Monday morning...

On a more serious note, I ought to say I applaud the fact that as women we can wear exactly what we feel happiest in.  Although I do wonder whether this proliferation of niqabs is healthy?  In my mind it begs the question as to women being perceived as second class citizens.  Are the women deciding to don this apparel as a way of thumbing their noses at the anti-Islamic feelings that are sweeping the world.  If they are, in my book they are cutting off their noses to spite their faces!  With the same token, girls today are bombarded with the thoughts and pictures that impossibly thin is the way forward. They are imposing a huge strain on themselves in the same way women are that wander around in a mountain of cloth.  With just their eyes showing, can it be safe for them to manoeuvre through the trials of everyday living?  Added to which the logistics of  conversations and essential things like eating, not to mention the heat generated.  Having a pee in a public lavatory must be a nightmare, having to hitch that lot up from the not altogether clean floor.

The thing that really worries me is, that it is men leaning on their wives, girlfriends in order for them not to be looked at.  I honestly think the opposite is true... they get looked at far more than they would if they just dressed demurely.

Those of a delicate...

disposition best look away 

NOW!

Just recently I have been taking an elderly

neighbour to hospital to have a monthly

 eye injection.

I escort him to the clinic, then I'm at 'large'

in the hospital, content to while away an hour or two,

having a coffee, reading my book and generally

watching the world go by.

My first port of call usually is the restaurant,

where I am sometimes tempted to have

a cheese scone with my mug of tea.

This time my itinerary varied;

thank goodness it did,

 is all I've got to say.

The loo in the hospital had a mirror on the door...

'Who's the fat friend that has sneaked

into the lavatory with you today Linda?'

'Bloody hell it's ME!'

As I adjusted my dress, I couldn't take my eyes off

just how things have got out of hand.

You, I'm sure have heard of metal fatigue,

have you heard of brassiere and knicker fatigue?

I staggered out, walked up to the counter and had a full blown

conversation in my head about the merits of cheese scones.

I looked at the time...

 9.25am and said to myself... 

'If you're at home do you have anything to eat during the morning?'

'Of course I don't, you daft tart, what sort of conversation is this?'

I chose a mug of tea and went and sat down.

The book had lost its appeal as my mind kept turning over...

'How the flying figrolls has this been allowed to happen?'

I wandered out of the cafe, my consolate had never felt more

dis.

My usual sitting in the foyer had somehow lost its appeal...

'How have they got themselves into that state?' smugly

used to flit through my mind.

NOT ANY FRIGGING MORE!

I slunk out of the main entrance,

limbo dancing on the linoleum, in the hope 

me being low to the ground, nobody would see me. 

I marched around the hospital perimeter,

grump in every step, overlaid with a sprinkle

of self-pity.

By the time I wandered back, my lovely man

was ready for our trip home.

We had talked at great length about

his wife not wanting to take any more pain killers

for the cancer that was slowly eating its way

through her body.

'I'll come in and sort her out!'

As you might of guessed, I do tend to call

a spade a ruddy great shovel.

And she always says I'm a tonic.

They are both from the North East

and they get my straight-talking...

(luckily!)

In I swept, as only a Challenger tank can.

Alright this isn't probably a Challenger tank!
I just wanted you to get the feel of my MO!

And challenge her I did.

We had a good laugh and joke and 
the main thrust of my 'gentle'
attack hit the target.

As I drove away,
my thoughts turned to how thin she was,
and what a spoilt self-indulgent lump I am.

Do you meet a...

better type of person on twitter?

Or are they all on instant gratification?

Must rush my life is so busy winging oft

pointless drivel in only so many words.

Social intercourse of the face-to-face kind is so old hat...

added to which you may get some awful disease.

Antibiotics are becoming less effective, so when some

bright spark finds a way to inseminate through 
cyber-space, then the job will be a goodun,

added to which you won't get all that

bodily fluids carry-on.

Our faces will take on a squarer, flatter mien;
looking on the bright side those more impressionable
amongst us, won't be able to inject poison into 
 the flat screens we call our face. 
Our digits will become more nimble,
our heads will tip forward, not because we 
suffer from spondylitis, just
because we are reversing the evolution chart...
from man back to monkey. 

  

❤❤❤

'A year ago you would...

never have had the patience to

sit and sort that out!'

says Ted.

And don't you just hate them,

 when they say things that you know

in your heart is so frigging

TRUE!

Anyway, I sat and persevered.
To be honest I can't believe I did.
I must be improving in my old age...
No surely not!

Thanks to Carol in Cairns I have got my

Doris blog linked in.  I haven't done anything

with it yet, mind.  No worries I will.

After much soul-searing I have decided
on telling Doris' story.

Meniscoid tears filled my eyes...

my heart slowed and soared

with exquisite anguish.

New thoughts floated free

as tears escaped their quivering

embrace.

Salty snail trails slowly 

criss-cross my face.

Sofa-snug I sat happy in my

newly acquired state.

I'm free of my self imposed

scolds bridle.

☆☆☆

Thanks to a comment on a past post,

suddenly my inner turmoil

of wasting time seems to

have been put in perspective.

Comments are the lifeblood of bloggers,
so for all of you that have and do...
thank you, 
especially to the one who
has made me stop and think.

'Phillip, just wing orft an email to that...

nice Mr Putin to order the loan of

 my state crown for the opening of Parliament

a week next Thursday!

Be a love and explain I would have sent a letter,

but the heart's gone out of me, since the

ghastly German's (Oops! sorry about that Phil) have bought my mail!

And while you're about it get a horse and cart

sent down from Sandringham with wood for the fire

as we now can't afford to buy oil and gas.

I knew I should have put my foot down when those

 snivelling Prime Ministers came with yet more ideas to flog orft

our Nation's treasures.

It broke my heart when the French

unseated my Household Cavalry

by buying all their trusty steeds.

Worse than that, then selling the resulting 

beefburgers back to us, for the hoi polloi to buy

at inflated prices.

The country's gorn to the dogs,

and that reminds me, have you seen the corgis?

And as for those Billionaire Romanian gypsies 

having bought the Tower for a

Pickpocket Training Academy.
Is it any wonder the ravens gave notice to quit?

Darling boy, we are not amused!'

👎 👎 👎

'When was it

EXACTLY that laziness came 

and bit you on the bum LL?'

Every cotton-picking morning I wake 

with a head full of schemes

and plans.

Every cotton-picking day

I'm just too idle to get my arse 

into gear.

The days pass in a daze of

jobs planned, but never executed.

The studio is now free of a

 summer of 

itinerant visitors...

so my work space is clear.

So no excuse there.

After an action-packed working life

my hands are not to

put too fine a point on it...

buggered.

'How come?'

Well seeing as you're asking...

spinning, knitting, sewing, crocheting.

'Hardly hard work LL!'

All of the above, working flat out

to sell, to earn money in order

to scratch a living off the land.

Peat digging, winkle picking,

digging by hand a huge veg. plot,

grinding corn, kneading bread,

milking goats, 

beach-combing huge bolts of timber

Then farming...

driving clunking tractors,

stacking small bales by hand in a field, 

then onto a trailer,

then off at the other end.

Shovelling the proverbial,

forking silage in the clamp,

then out to the cows,

levelling concrete delivered by

truck (the driver couldn't believe just two

of us were doing it!)

forking out hay,

hands inside a cow, sorting out a calves feet

to enable it to be born.

Cooking for all comers.

Next chapter...

Training as a cordon bleu chef.

Working some 14+ hours in a

busy household, in the main 

without help.

Now if I tell you my left hand is constantly numb

and my right thumb joint is worn away,
perhaps you can get an idea?

Is it any wonder I'm worn-out,

not in spirit, mind.

And on occasions look like this...

Blogging is the way forward...
 I'm content with my life...
not a bad place to be.

Doris is back from...

from the greengrocers...

Is that a teddy in her lap?

With rosy cheeks like polished apples

her trip has obviously been successful.

Goodbye, until tomorrow.

I may be gone...

some time.

I'm up-grading my equipment.

I will return...

fresher, newer, younger... Nah!

Just the same old me...

but faster, sparkier, brighter...

more circumspect and sensible...

Get a grip LL

it's not the miracle shop you're going to

just the greengrocer!

Wot?

Doris says...

for me to ask you...

are there any advantages

to Google+

if so what are they?

Your thoughts would be very welcome.

Julie, Elaine et al

this is Doris*

* A full explanation (much against my better judgement, I might add) courtesy of Nilly on my post of last Friday

One chill night...

and aspiration withers on the vine

The hope 

the expectation 

seems now no more 

than a passing fancy

With sprightly step I did

this morning what I've done every morning

for many sun-filled days

I proudly walked the plot

marvelling at Mother Nature's bounty

Suddenly death and decay dog my every step

The air seems different...

menancing not mellow

Forlorn not fecund

Carrying the tumbling tiger tomato

into the greenhouse...

the baby I nursed from incubator

to the great outdoors

Tottering under the weight

of 'little' Tommy I hardly

dared show my disappointment

This sole survivor

my pride and joy 

never really rewarded me

Where did I go wrong?

Tart fruits with tough skin...

and after all the love and care

this is how I'm repaid...

a bitter pill to swallow

Shakily I walked away

back to the empty cottage

Lettice happily slumbering in her bed

The memory, just that

a memory 

of warm fruit filled days

seems in

the blink of an eye...

to have gone

Sitting by the fire on a winter's day

happy... 

planning from the colour filled

catalogues...

now just a distant dream

   

With seagulls calling, the music...

strikes up and instantly we still

hear the dulcet tones of 

Roy Plumley.

Mr OW is looking for subjects

to interview, I have it on the best

authority thumb screws will not be used,

due to paragraph 2, section o.u.c.h.

of the Geneva Convention.

If interested in taking part

put your digit right here

Flirting (I seem to do a lot of that lately)

with the idea

I thought shall I have a go?

Now there's nothing folk i.e. me,

like better than talking

about themselves, some might think 

I do too much of that here,

and they'd be right, I'd never admit to it, mind!

This led me on, to the time I was asked

to do a Radio Kent type

Desert Island Discs.

Imagine my joy at the thought!

I carefully choose my eight records,

with the reasons why.

Needless to say I thoroughly

enjoyed myself.

Setting off home with a copy of the 

programme I was happy.

On the next visit of Aaron and family, just

as they were roaring off back to York,

I gave him the copy of the programme to listen

to on the journey.

My thinking: kids asleep in the back

Aaron and Claire might like to hear

my choices and for why?

WRONG!

Next time we spoke I at the last,

 dropped into the conversation the question

that I ought to say, was burning a socking great hole

in my mind...

'What did you think?'

'Err... we didn't get around to listening to it!'

?¿?

I think the moral of this story is, there is only one person

who is interested in you and that I'm afraid to say is...

YOU!