'We're cabbage...

people!  We don't like mange tout,

baby sweetcorn and veg that haven't been cooked!'

Got me thinking as I read a review of the findings

of a coach trip aficionado...

With our coach trip a week away...

Am I making a horrible mistake?

Are we ready for cabbage boiled for 20 minutes,

Morris dancers and many and various comfort breaks en route?

My mind whirled back in time to my father's 

70th birthday meal at a posh restaurant,

where he said to the waiter...

'Please make sure they cook the vegetables properly!'

I'm ashamed to say I cringed with embarrassment, 

little knowing then he would only live for another 

four months.

How things and more importantly...

me, have changed in the intervening 

24 years.

I've cooked for the highest and lowest of the land,

I've travelled the world and now I'm on the cusp 

of a completely new experience...

a frigging coach trip.

Forget the Maldives, the Arctic, Mauritius and the like!

'This will be a totally new experience!'

I said grandly, every fibre of my being quivering (with fear perhaps?)
 as I sold the idea to Ted.

Personally I blame it on Shirley,

who is a thrifty Yorkshire lass.

Giving me the hard sell, I could feel my

Green Shield Stamp genes awakening...

'Yes, yes, Yes!

In her head she...

dreams and schemes...

designs of the finer kind.

I'm proud to call her my friend.

Tears hung in my eyes like mini meniscus

as I looked and looked at this sweet latest make.

Picking up the phone I dialled; valiantly

keeping the quiver out of my voice...

'Please can I buy?'

'They're  sold, sorry!'

Before she had time to say...

'I'll make you one.'

My bottom lip dimpled and quivered

and I'm ashamed to say I cried.

❤

This is what on Valentine's morning the

postie delivered.

No not a card from a secret admirer,

but something far, far, far more

valuable...

The badge of the worth of a 

true friend...

Viv

Love in the...

long grass

 

Well... tickle me with a...

feather

If you only go to one exhibition this year...

make it this one

Isabella Blow: Fashion Galore!

Somerset House

until 02 March 2014

A feast of frocks, fashion and fripperies

I was truly blown away

Miss it... at your peril!

I just don't know...

what to do next for badness?

Shall I...

shoot off to dfs to buy a leather sofa

lose three stone

push the boat out and turn the washing machine 

up to 40º in order for my clean knicks

to not smell of old ladies, lavender and wee

say what I really, really mean

shave the backs of my thighs,

when I'm not planning on a trip

to the Maldives any time soon

book an oap coach trip

start reading Mills and Boon in order

to get a little excitement into my life

own up on my first visit to a play reading at our 

local Am Drams, that I am honestly only interested in

being a back-room bod...

and NOT the beautiful nubile romantic lead

put a sock in it and try and start

acting my age

"I can't bear to...

read... 

about David Beckham's obsession with Lego

and what a regular guy he really, really is

Michael Gove's sacking Baroness Morgan

Karzai saying Helmand would have been better if 

UK forces had never set a foot there

Fifth woman accuses Rennard

NHS hospital trust gags health tourism whistleblower

Bob Crow orchestrating the tube strike from Brazil

The Met regarding a gangland boss as their paymaster

Of the people whose homes are made uninsurable and

unsaleable by floodwater

Another word about Scottish independence

about politicians and their ilk!"

*****

As this nugget of opinion issued from my reclining

rosebuds the only retort was...

'That's okay I won't get a paper next Sunday!'

Well I mean to say...

where is a self opinionated girl to go from here,

I ask you?

The reasons as to why I can't bring myself to read these things...

well I'll leave you to work out.

Strangely enough I can bring myself to read in

minute  detail...

 the murder of

Meredith Kercher.

It probably tells you a lot about me...

As I sat picking the...

fluff out of the parquet floor, 
with a view to needle-felting it into a 
hibernating dormouse, I got to thinking...

1.   Why are the stinking rich so awfully thin?

2.   Why do they walk around as if they have a permanent sewerage
smell under their button noses...
acquired after much money spent in the hallowed turf
of the street that runs behind John Lewis?

3.   Why do they insist on four meals a day when they don't flaming eat?
(How do I know?  Cos I've been on the receiving end of that little
fiasco!)

4.   Why do they inject poison into their faces?

5.   Why do they insist on smoking cannabis?

6.  Why is it that the only money they carry is rolled up
£20 notes?

7.  Why is it that they think we believe them
when they endlessly crack on about 
how much money they give to charity?
(Don't they know that we the unwashed hoi polloi 
know it's a frigging tax dodge!)

8.   Where did they acquire the skill of accessing
your bank balance at a 100 yards and then 
blanking you?

9.   Why do they always insist that they are exactly
as Mother Nature intended?
(Don't they realise we can see the join!)

10.   At exactly what point in their development 
did they become so blimming smug?

11.  Why do they wear Hunter wellies when any
self-respecting farmer will tell you they are
treacherous.

12.  Horses?  Why?

13.  Horse boxes... always being driven by
females at 23½ miles per hour... why?

14.   Horse racing... when surely they know 
what happens to the one's that don't make the grade?

15.  Four wheel drive vehicles for taking little
Ezra to prep school?

Oh I could go on...
however I'm running out of fluff. 

Love moves in mysterious ways