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Sunday, 31 May 2009

In which I am a bit nervous...

This is today's offering, painting wise. Not finished yet but coming along nicely. Am feeling rather self satisfied at having worked on Sunday. The horses are a commissioned work for S as a present for number one daughter.
NLI just phoned from the sauna to tell me he'd call me later. Must have water with lovely red wine then or else will be tipsy and liable to promise things that I might not want to deliver.
The end of my final Sunday of not actually having met NLI in the flesh.
Have just had email from lovely friend M who is coming down to Wivey next week. Shall look forward to seeing her and spilling the beans about NLI.
Big hasn't emailed for three days. Obviously annoyed about being told to sod off. Then, if he read about my imaginery sophisticated evening involving pot noodles and lager must have serious hump! Anyway, he may moan and complain about his life but he just can't be bothered to do anything about it.
What a perfect weekend it would have been for sailing. Boats 1 and 2 are just too old though. Shame NLI hasn't got a boat. Let's hope he makes up for it in other departments. He's certainly rather keen on present buying which is a plus.
Shall be doing breakfast show on 10 radio this Wednesday with K and R. ( if you're interested dear reader. From 7.00am until 9.00am.
Mosied off to Devon to return CT's paintings this morning. What a perfect day. Sat in CT's divine garden, which incidentally stretches across two counties, having coffee and being interogated about next week.
I am looking forward to Sunday, but boy is it scary!
New frocks road tested well. General opinion is that I should have my hair up thereby looking all Jane Austen heroine type person.
BF is rather concerned that I shall subject NLI to my fabulous black lycra jim jams. She had the temerity to call them passion killers.
I ask you, dear reader, just because they saw off Boat 1. I love those jim jams, and see no reason not to wear them at every available opportunity.
Am a trifle concerned that NLI says he wears SHORTS throughout the summer. He obviously doesn't realise I am the epitome of all that is elegant in the clothing department.
I have told him that I shall be following the example of friend D, who, following the third date, makes all her chaps open their wardrobes and deposit anything offensive into a black sack that she takes with her. Then they all have to wear the standard uniform of D's chaps, which is a white t-shirt, pink jacket and designer jeans. They all conform though, she is a little demon!
Off to work tomorrow. Final week of desperate lonliness, hopefully! Aahh, I hear you say, dear reader. Wish me luck!

Saturday, 30 May 2009

In which I release my inner trollop

I feel tis time to divulge one or two of my sectrets regarding reeling in chaps various. NLI and I moved to another level following the 'Lemon Curd' incident. I have to confess when he and I first began to speak on the telelphone, following a period of emails exchanged through the Daily Telegraph website, I could have taken him or left him. Then, one evening dear reader, I was mooching throught the kitchen cupboards looking for something sweet, having been 'Fatkins it' for what seems like decades, and my beadies alighted upon a jar of the yellow nectar! Quietly unscrewing the lid I plunged a digit into it's sticky yellow depths and proceeded to suck it off. Now, I expect we were having an exciting conversation about Project Management at IBM, or the benefits of an infra red sauna... All conversations thus far having been very polite and tentatively probing for information, one about the other.
'What on earth are you doing'? says he.
'I'm sucking lemon curd off my finger',I reply.
He laughed, for the first time, in a throaty raw sort of way, and I thought, 'Oh this one might be fun after all'.
'Do you ever eat it any other way?', he enquired.
'Well I could lick it off the inside of your thigh', I purred.
Now, I promise you, dear reader, I AM NOT THAT KIND OF GIRL. Something about this telephone introduction lark has released my 'inner trollop' and it's a particular genie I can't seem to get back in the bottle.
Well after that we started to get to know one another a little better. The 'incident' is rarely recalled, but he has loosened up somewhat and I think we shall have some fun. Who knows where, if anywhere, it will lead.
Big once asked me if I'd had phone sex to which I just laughed.
It's fine, but awfully inconvenient if someone telephones in the middle of it!

Friday, 29 May 2009

in which 'Big' assumes it's all about sex...

This is the last weekend. I shall have one Saturday NLI free, but next Sunday, THAT IS IT. What have I done. 'Big' thinks I've taken leave of my senses and, quite frankly, has been rather vulgar in his summing up of the situation.
'Drag a bloke in off the street', was his last piece of advice, the git!
Well, he can fester away down on his 'country estate' for all I care. His idea of a sophisticated evening is probably scoffing a sweet and sour pot noodle in front of the TV whilst balancing a can of lager on his stomach. I, however, shall very soon be the proud owner of a cultured personage. Just think, dear reader, at last, someone to indulge my passions for all things artistic, not forgetting the cricket! I don't understand cricket but it's so English, I love it! I can visualise lovely moi in floaty frock, mwa mwaing all the other cricket wives before settling stylishly down at my easel to capture the event on paper. Obviously with a bottle of vodka and a pack of fags stuffed up me knicker leg lest I get bored! AND, let's be a little more ambitious, not a Laura Ashley frock - maybe Chloe or even Ghost. After all, a chap who'll buy Lanvin shoes should be happy for me to dress in the manner to which I plan to become accustomed.
I wonder if he wears jewellery? I bet not. He sounds a complete traditionalist and worryingly a bit stiff! One should never turn one's nose up at a chap with piercings etc since at least one knows he's had experience of buying jewellery!
Speaking of buying things, NLI keeps on sending me gifts. Very nice, you might think, but they are things that he doesn't seem to be able to live without, like a stove pot for some special kind of coffee and even special cups to drink it out of, for goodness sake! Last week there was talk of bringing a jar of bloody Marmite, for heaven's sake! I ask you, dear reader, I know I now reside in deepest Somerset where we are a little behind the times, but we have heard tell of Marmite. AND, special bread! He's beginning to behave rather like my Mother, who issues me with a list of do's and don'ts before a visitation. I hope he doesn't run his finger along the top of the piano to see if it's dusty like she does!
As I survey my little dwelling, I have to ask myself, does it need a man in it? Well, it already has Boy, but he resides mostly in his room killing aliens on the computer and talking over the internet to other weird teenagers. Introducing a man into my pink and girly heaven will be strange after all this time.
I have had notification of the divorce papers being sent off to court so Vile Husband will be history in around sixteen weeks. I shall have to keep his name since it's my professional name after all. The art garden was just what I needed to get back on track painting wise. It has all fallen a bit by the wayside whilst I've been trawling through all these prospective new hubbsters. I feel a painting coming on today though.
I have horses to finish, I shall do that in the garden since it looks like it'll be a lovely day. Then I absolutely must finish, well start actually, the lesson plans for Taunton School. Don't these people realise I've only got eight days to plan what I'm going to wear for the big seduction scene for goodness sake! I should be going to buy a new telephone since mine has finally died of old age and the batteries are refusing to charge. I just can't be bothered, I'll buy one online, which won't get here until next week, thereby rendering it impossible for NLI to speak to me since I can't get a mobile signal in the depths of Wiv. That'll have the little blighter all fired up by the time he gets here next Sunday, having had to live without my seductive voice purring in his shell like at various intervals. I think I'll sashay 'up the town' now and road test one of me new frocks, give him a tantalising text, and disappear for the rest of the weekend.
More on that story later...

Tuesday, 26 May 2009

In which I go off at a tangent...

Received a call from 'S' this evening worried for me when meeting NLI. I suppose it must seem absolute madness to invite what is essentially a complete stranger into my home. Well, for what it's worth, I don't think it is. The phenomenon of internet introductions is something new and exactly that, a phenomenon. I have been speaking, exchanging emails and photographs with this man for three months overall, and very frequently for the past two months. It is almost like an arranged marriage. Well that's what I wanted isn't it? It is possible to get to know a lot about a person without physical attraction, or not, getting involved. That can only be a good thing, can't it? I know 'S' is concerned for me, and I do appreciate that, it's very sweet, but I am not worried in the least. I don't have to go to bed with him if I don't want to and neither does he, me. We are both over fifty years old for goodness sake. It did, however, put me in the mind of an incident following a one night stand of my youth, which I shall share with you dear reader...
Following copious amounts of my chosen tipple of the day, probably, dry martinis, I alighted upon the doorstep of a rather attractive chap who lived on the top floor of the block in which I was currently residing.
'Chris Bonnington used to live here' says he as we climbed the last of the many steps.
'Oh I didn't know him, I've only just moved in' says I, indicating that I am indeed the blonde bimbo that I look!
Still with him following my luscious derierre up the stairs for all those flights and watching it jiggle about in me leggings like two ferrets trying to escape from a sack, we plodded on toward the boudoir.
I don't remember the evil deed in any detail, and I'm sure you don't want to hear about it anyway.
Promising to meet for supper on the next evening I sashayed down to my apartment and even though rather tired and emotional set about my toilette.
Face off thouroughly, I plonked onto the loo flossing my teeth at the same time, struggled into jim jams, tasteful and fashionable no doubt and slid elegantly into bed.
Some time later I awoke with a searing pain in my front bottom, dear reader!
'Oh no' thinks I 'I contracted some strange tropical gusset parasite from matey boy on the top floor!
I tear into the bathroom and rip of jim jam bottoms only to find a piece of minted dental floss nestling in my lady garden, thereby explaining the stinging sensation.
Nonetheless I think twice about the next night's engagement and feign illness.

Now, there are two lessons here...

Don't go on one night stands
Don't put minted dental floss down yer pants!

Monday, 25 May 2009

In which I make excuses for lack of sales...

Well, the Art Garden, complete with me as seen with scruffy, baggy jeans and fluffy ponytail, was very enjoyable, but an odd event sales wise. Normally, at least in a shop/studio setting I would sell out, but today there just weren't any buyers.
Shed loads of people picking up business cards and asking for commissions, but no actual punters putting their hands in their Kelly Bags for funds.
Most of them absolutely loaded too, which is why the economy is in such a pickle. There you are, Gordon Brown, solved in one. Get yer rich mates to start buying stuff and we can all sit at home on Bank Hols instead of getting up a 6.00am and spending the day in a boiling greenhouse.
'A' introduced me to a financial backer who seemed an ok sort of chap. Anyway, he wants me to mastermind the organisation of current project with A, so that should be interesting. I am happy to help her out since it was she, and BF, of course, who flung herself into the preparation for my very first shop all that time ago. And if it leads to sales it will be good!
I had a lot of positive feedback which will spur me on to paint again. I do miss sitting in the shop and painting. If I'm not in there I do tend to wander aimlessly around and not do much. I do manage to organise drinking vodka and smoking fags though. I need an adoring public to file past me singing praise all day long!
Lots of people wanted to buy 'Over Wivey 1' and 'Over Wivey 11' and 'South Street Dusk' but all wanted to go away and think about it or ask Great Aunt Maud which one she's like best.
'Oh your style, Dahling' it's such fun...
'I absolutely MUST have that one, may I photograph it and email the pic to Darling bla bla to see if he loves it too?'
NO MISSUS YOU MAY BLEENIN' NOT YOU CHEEKY MOO! I want to squeak but instead say
'Do give me your email address, I have a lovely photograph of that one I'll do it for you now.'
CT was most impressed by my diplomatic handling of the situation. Well, dear reader, as you can see the art world's gain was a severe loss to the diplomatic core.
Very naughty small chum, L, (incidentally, purchaser of one of my fighting hare pics) snuck up behind me and grabbed my bottom, shouting 'That's a nice smallish arse you've got there'. Well, I left the ground with both feet at the same time like I always do in the manner of a helicopter, shreiking loudly, which added to the afternoon's entertainment. Entering into the spirit of the situation I offered a feel to her hubbster, who diplomatically declined and put his hands safely in his pockets.
CT seemed certain that a few people who were making the right noises would return to purchase.
Day job crowd turned up thereby ensuring a huge vacant area around them on the croquet lawn within seconds! What is it about people when confronted with oddity? They all leg it pretty damn sharpish whilst trying to pretend they haven't noticed anything strange.
Did sell lots of kitchen type stuff with pics of my work on, to holiday makers et al.
Took CT back to Devon and then returned to Rice Towers to see if Boy would come and help me load up the car. No chance. Vile Husband on his weekly visit to Boy offered to help. I accepted since it would be nice to get some use out of him before the decree nisi.
Anyway, most people ignored him, which he still doesn't get, the git! He just can't see that you can't mistreat a National Treasure like lovely moi and get away with it.
Came home and unfortunately after saying I'd never drink wine again, necked a bottle of red in rather short time. I just get so luvvied and mwa mwa'd up I can't calm down. So now it looks like the two pounds I lost last week are back. One pound on my favourite chin and the other on me right knee! Shall have to wobble around sitting room with Rosemary Conley twice as much this week.
Funny, still needed wine after de-briefing over phone to NLI. Will be de-briefed in person by NLI in less than two weeks.
I've changed my mind. I don't want to do it. He says he wants to kiss me all over, but given the surface area involved, that should take us through to Wednesday afternoon.

Sunday, 24 May 2009

In which I have really cold feet...

WHAT AM I DOING? I must have taken leave of my senses. I am Claire Rice, Artist, Therapist, Mother, ex-Wife. I AM ALWAYS ON MY OWN. I have always been on my own even when residing with Vile Husband. I am about to have a complete stranger invade my world, not to mention my boudoir, what the hell am I thinking about?
I should go to my draining day job, come home and paint and then go to bed - alone. Boy is off to college, has good relationship with father and will soon clear off and make a life for himself. My work is done there. I could sit on the sofa eating chocolate, watching soaps and waiting to die and be eaten by cats.
So why am I going to put myself through all this shit again? I ask you, dear reader, I shall have to get my kit off and make physical contact with another human being in LESS THAN TWO WEEKS TIME!
What if he doesn't find me attractive? What if I don't fancy him? Then what? The last time the lycra jim jams went into battle stations it was a flamin' disaster after all. But, when all said and done, that was a trial run and frankly I'd have boffed our postman to get the evil deed done and see if I could remember how to do it. Anyone who knows our postman, previously featured in one of my BEST SELLING CHRISTMAS CARDS, will realise what a desperate act that would be!
I won't be able to email Big, I won't be able to blog. Lord knows what he'd think if he ever read this lot!!
Oh no, look at the flippin' time! It's quarter to four and in two hours I've got to start getting ready to Mwa Mwa people into buying a painting or two. In a sodding greenhouse in this weather. Well I say greenhouse, dear reader, it's more of an Orangery actually, darlings!
It's really hot. My curls are sticking to the back of my neck.

In which Tony Head has heard of little old paintist Moi!...

Went to set up the Art Garden today. Have been placed in the Greenhouse. OK if wet, everyone will charge in there, but today, I was dripping. Am next to Lemon Tree with lemons the size of rugger balls, no less.
Mine and C's paintings, cards etc look pretty good. Although I couldn't put up the display easels. In the shop were I bought them a miniature octaganarian whipped them up before my eyes in about four seconds, but the blighters have defeated moi!
Baby ducks parading back and forth on P's pond to everyones delight especially Baby the cat who was hiding behind a gunnera and waiting for his supper.
Strolling around on the croquet lawn without shoes was divine in the soft grass. Got roped into painting display boards by A. Didn't mind though she's always up for volunteering.
Seeing her reminded me, dear reader, that Tony Head, yes THAT ONE, coffee, vampires et al, phoned me to track her down. He's heard of me! How fab is that! A really famous person has heard of me! Now all I have to do is to get him to buy one of my paintings.

Saturday, 23 May 2009

In which I am a cleaning woman for God's sake!

It is official - I have plummeted to previously unchartered depths. On a visit, today, to the local nursery I have acquired a job as a cleaning lady for a Phillipino woman. What a turn around for goodness sake! It's usually me creating employment for foreigners various. A Polish cleaner a West Indian nanny and a Chinese beautician were previously on my staff. Yet now in order that vile husband can avoid the inconvenience of a job that he feels beneath him I am now a sodding cleaner as well as everything else. I was nonchalantly strolling around piling up plants to buy when internet husband of Phillipino woman says
'Are you the artist from Wivey?'
'Yes I am' says I.
'Well we had another artist in here a while ago asking if we had any part time jobs, but we didn't and now we do.'
'Oh, what's that then' says I.
'Well Pa wants someone to clean the house and do the ironing, would you do that?'
'Of course,' says me, wondering if they houseproud at all.
Anyway, the upshot of it is that I now have yet another bloody job!
AND I cannot believe what I saw today - Boat has flagged me up as a favourite again on the Daily Telegraph dating website. Does he think I'm going to contact him? I think not! Or, is he determined to meet someone without scary pyjamas? If he is, then I suggest he cleans that revolting house of his.
I am more and more worried about meeting NLI. Is it the right thing to do? It's not what I had in mind for EVER. He does sound a bit bonkers and a bit of a drunk and a bit needy. So are you, you might say, but I have the added bonus of being completely, fabulously gorgeous!
'Big' save me. If you have a thread of humanity in you, do the world at large a favour, and SAVE ME!

Friday, 22 May 2009

In which I say IT'S NOT FAIR...

I am having serious doubts about the visit from NLI. Are my emotions to be trusted? I don't think so! After all I spent the best part of twenty years with Vile Husband. And, now that I'm rather gorgeous I should be able to lure 'em in in person, not just out of the ether. People keep leaping out at me shouting, 'You look fantastic!. What have you done?'
Well, dear reader, I've lost the weight of a small person, with the best part of another one still to go. Either that, or I just looked rubbish before.
It must be lovely to have grown old and porkus with the same bloke. Then, that horrible little bit of body where yer cesarian scar is, is the housing for a baby that you've presented them with. And, hopefully they will remember you when you were young and lovely and you'll have both porked up and deteriorated together.
Not like now, when I'm clinging on to me looks with all the determination of a shower curtain on a wet thigh! I know I was a looker once, but what good is that? I've got all the same ridiculous feelings racing round that I had as a teenager. The trouble is they're tearing around the body of a middle aged woman.
OH NO. How on earth did I get this old! I've got this old and no one's ever really loved me, AND IT'S NOT FAIR!
What shall I do? Help me, dear reader. Should I fall into his waiting arms and boff his bifocals off? Or, should I sit by me pooter drinking vodka and smoking fags waiting for 'Big' to email?

In which it is the morning after the night before...

Let me set the scene, dear reader...
following my first night of pash with NLI, I slip elegantly out of the satin sheets and ease myself with cat like grace into a silken gown. Gracefully I slink across the polished floor into the bathroom where I disrobe, step into a freshly drawn scented bath and refresh my recently loved body in the perfumed depths. I delicately pat dry my curves with a soft fluffy towel and step unashamedly back into my boudoir to sit in my window seat in perfect nakedness to attend to my toilette. My naturally pre-raphaelite curls fall into shape around my heart shaped, pink cheeked face and I put on the merest hint of makeup to face the day. Clearly aroused by this image of perfection NLI throws back the sheets and ravishes me there and then on the bearskin rug.

Would you like to sin
With Eleanor Glyn
Upon a tiger skin
Or, would you prefer
To err with her
On some other fur.

Look it up - the story is fascinating

I wake up with me black lycra jim jams twisted around so that I look like one of those enormous wrestlers, complete with the bottoms down below my ceasarian scar with the leg bits pushed up over me fat knees. Yesterdays makeup smeared across me blotchy face rendering me a dead ringer for the mutant love child of Sid Vicious and a panda. Desperately attempting to heave my lard arse off the bed before NLI attempts to repeat the previous nights fumbling since any attempt to squeeze me would set off a series of toxic farts. I feel that farting under the duvet and spitting in the air and shouting 'take yer pick' is an amusement best kept for later on in the relationship. As we all know once the sound barrier is broken there is no going back. I wobble bathroomward and climb behind the mouldy shower curtain, turn on the ancient device and wait the required three minutes whilst it chunters into action. I scrub meself with boots value shower gel and pee down the plughole. Choosing the least filthy tee shirt from the dirty laundy basket I fumble me way to the industrial suitcase full of makeup, trowel some on and plug in me rollers. I chuck a mug of nescaff down me neck and pick the bran flakes out of me teeth with me eyebrow tweezers. NLI by now is hiding under the quilt, but I can see his quivering shape and plan me next assault.

which one is it - you choose

Wednesday, 20 May 2009

in which I am expected to wear nipple tassels...

It is official - I must have started looking like a trollop without noticing it! Today, and I am livid about this, dead eyed chav asked me if I wanted her to look out for some Ann Summers nightwear at the next boot sale she goes to!
She said 'well you can't have your first night of passion in a winceyette nightie.' Stchoooopid Moo! I have black lycra camisole with cut off leggings to kip in. Even Big knows that, and so does Boat, because, dear reader that's what took ten years off the poor old boy's life! Not that Big had seen said jim jams, I've previously attempted to lure him gussetward with tales of them. All to no avail, he'd rather paint toy soldiers in his shed.
As for moi in Ann sodding Summers, I think not! She only wanted me to have a zip up outfit with cut out nipples and tassles! AND, dear reader, a willy chain. (for him obviously) We're talking respectable, well a bit anyway, middle aged people here. I draw the line at marabou cufflinks thank you very much!
Not only ghastly and common, but second bleedin' hand. I ask you dear reader, I'm interviewing for a new husband not auditioning for a job in a bordello.

Tuesday, 19 May 2009

In which I shall never be the bird in Big's hand....

I am utterly mortified that 'Big' clearly thinks I am a trollop, or at least, dress like one! Following his reading of the Lanvin Pumps saga he emailed me a pic of what he clearly assumed I lusted after.WRONG WRONG WRONG Tarty trollop shoes are not my thing at all! Doesn't he know after all this time that I am a fresh faced Dozzer Day lookalike. I wear fresh white linen shirts and cut off trousers which would enhance the look of the Lovely Lanvins no end. I have perfect white teeth and alabaster skin, the utter bastard!
I don't trollop it up for anyone, well maybe Johnny Depp or Lawrence Olivier or Ian Anderson or Peter Cook or Oliver Reed or Ray Winstone or indeed 'Big' himself. But that would have been before I actually encountered a bloke who felt he could spend hundreds of pounds on shoes for lovely moi. Big reckons that NLI is a 'bird in the hand'. Maybe so, Bigster. But let me tell you I shall never be the bird in your hand. Well not unless you ask nicely and come bearing Lanvin shoes.

Saturday, 16 May 2009

In which I attempt to emulate a screen goddess whilst wearing a four quid Matalan T shirt...

Why is it that my two favourite, well at the moment, pastimes, smoking fags and drinking wine/vodka are so bad for one? A cruel trick from on high! Why couldn't, say, eating spinach and doing yoga be the demon delights instead. Imagine the little gangs of office workers outside their dreary blocks all adopting the lotus position in a back alley and secretly consuming fistfuls of spinach in the unisex bogs! There really must be some kind of Universe Designer and, well, at least HE has a sense of humour. After all, why else would the recreation area be so close to the toilets?
Should have been painting a pic of two horses that I've had commissioned yesterday. Sidetracked by Bette Davis in 'All About Eve'. What a fab film that was/is! An absolute work of genius in every way. Marred only by the dire performance of Marilyn Monroe. She could only ever play a lead role. Mesmerised by the completely divine George Sanders and his spine tingling voice. Imagine that whispering 'darling' in one's ear in the morning. Lucky old Zsa Zsa. The utter glamour of it all! Bette Davis flinging her hair about and stamping back and forth in fantastically high heels. And the dresses! Swishing around in taffeta and great big petticoats, how thrilling! AND, of course, that brings me back to the fags! She always had a fag going and used it to great effect. That in one hand and a dry martini in the other.
Imagine - One simply couldn't effect the stamping hissy fit in today's attire. I do have the hair to fling back and forth, and for now at least, the fag, but, honestly, striding accross the room in an elegant and commanding way is downright impossible whilst wearing slouch jeans, ugg boots and a four quid T shirt from Matalan!

Friday, 15 May 2009

In which I discover a man who is prepared to buy Lanvin Pumps...

Ed leaves school next Thursday! It is over! I have spent the past seventeen years steering him through the highs and lows of education. He is, as far as I can tell, a fully rounded human being, all set to go off to college and thence uni and then out into the world.
It has been difficult ever since, when he was three, a health visitor came into my home and told me that he was Autistic, would be living in an institution, and there was no hope.
I can see her now, perched on the stairs, delivering her instant diagnosis. And very pleased with herself she was as she said 'Well, I'll leave you now, that's a lot to take in and you'll need to mourn the loss of the child you thought you had'.
With that she left, having turned me from a Mother into a carer in twenty minutes.
It all began when Ed started the little nursery school that was directly opposite my cottage in Eggington. It was in what used to be the village school and was then being used as a community centre. I would watch him interact with the other children, well not interact, actually. He was always apart from the others in every sense of the word. They would play together and he would run aimlessly back and forth at the edge of the playground flapping his arms. If another child approached him he would push them away with both hands aimed at the chest, and, being a large child this often ended in tears. Well I remember the nursery assistant who alerted me to the problem with the irritating phrase, 'I'm not being funny but...' Invariably, when someone says that, they most definitely are!
More on that another day...

I JUST MUST TELL I know I don't say much about NLI since he is very special and I need to keep him to myself, BUT, I have discovered, in him, a man who is not afraid to buy metallic blue, soft as a whisper, divinely divine, leather, to absolutely die for, LANVIN PUMPS!!
Marry him immediately, I hear you yell, dear reader. YES YES YES say I in manner of Meg Ryan!

In which I borrow the words of the divine Diana Mitford - 'Isn't it lovely...

Goodbye cruel world and farewell dear reader. I have obviously been deliberately poisoned by ‘Block 7, Plankenberg’ producers from South Africa. I had three glasses of their vile nectar, and no supper so clearly it can’t be my fault that I’ve awoken with my face on inside out! Although, I do deserve a smack on the back of the legs for consuming something called PLANKENBERG. What a hideously ugly name!

Eliciting no sympathy from anyone, I shall put on my face, perambulate myself in the general direction of the Bear and await the attention of an empathetic farmhand – SO THERE

That's better. I've had an enormous lunch followed by a huge washing up bowl sized cup of cappucino and now look like I've swallowed a football. Have visited Doc and I am in tip top nick and looking fab, according to him!

Isn't it lovely being lovely, lovely one?


Thursday, 14 May 2009

In which I am questioned about time management...

Have had a jolly nice week at work. No, please don't let me get sucked in again. I've just had my P60 and have earned this year what I would normally spend on shoes in my real profession. Have been mesmerising little blighters by singing 'show' songs to them. Works every time and feeds my requirement for a captive audience.
Everyone has been commenting on my weight loss and saying how good I look. I LIKE THAT. I've also had man trapping advice from the dead eyed fat trollop. Like I'd want anything that would wave it's daks in that direction. I just accept all advice with a smile on my face and then write it down, burn it and chant incantations about men with fat wallets.
NLI had the infernal cheek to ask what on earth I did in the mornings since I get up at 6.00am and don't leave for work until 9.00am. What is it with these chaps? Do they know nothing?
OBVIOUSLY I wake at 6.00am then have to lie and think about what to wear, that takes about twenty minutes. Get trampled on by cats. Then I shower. Deciding which shampoo to use is always a biggie. How do I know whether I need to be sleek and glossy or tantalisingly curly if I don't know what jeans I'm wearing! I mean, that Barak Obama doesn't have probs like me, does he? He gets up, thinks 'Hey, I'll wear a suit' easy peasy. He can then clear off and be head boy of the world with nothing to worry about. I bet he didn't spend fifteen minutes looking for a black lace bra this morning, did he? Then I think about having a little ride on my bike. That bike is against me. It just won't do what I want. My old one with the knob tightening thingy mechanism was much better than the electronic version. For goodness sake, all I want is something a bit stiff to ride on whilst listening to John Humphries for ten minutes.
Must, of course, oil lovely self with Ylang Ylang and Lavender. Straightening corkscrew curls takes a LONG TIME, men! I have coffee, maybe an egg, maybe a banana, maybe nothing. Of course there are emails to answer. Plenty to ignore about stiffening willies etc. Usually something cryptic from 'Big' littered with grammatical errors and spelling mistakes.
Ask, shout, beg, plead and finally eject Ed from bed to get ready for school. Fall over at least once. Either over big fat ginger cat or box of redundant stock, or case of wine in the hall.
Go online to blog and become distracted by shoes. I really want a pair of Lanvin pumps. The blue ones like Lulu has. They are divine. I deserve them. They are too expensive. I can't have them.
Get about six phone calls from NLI calling me darling this and darling that. Ooh, that makes my back arch!
If only I'd ironed the pink chiffon, it goes really nicely with curly hair!

Tuesday, 12 May 2009

In which I am oiled and fragrant...

Boots own massage base oil is best. Take a 20ml mixing bottle add enough base oil to almost fill it then add 10 drops of Ylang Ylang and 10 drops of lavender. Boots, again, is best and it must be pure. Mix it by shaking the bottle and then massage it into your, or someone else's, skin. Preferably following a shower or bath, either morning or evening. You too will then have completely unblemished and baby soft skin all over just like moi.
I've been doing it for almost twenty years now and my skin is beautiful. Albeit a little too large a surface area and increasing in acreage over the years! Never mind says PM 'all the more to explore'. Now the reason I share this pearl of wisdom with you, dear reader, is that whilst slathering it from tip to toe this fine morning, I was thinking of 'Big' and 'Small'. Were I to getting ready for an encounter with 'Big' I wouldn't have bothered dieting or doing anything special, I'd just have been lovely me, suck it and see! But I've waxed, exfoliated, dieted, excersised, touched up me roots, steamed me face etc. for 'Small'. Why is that? What do I care what he thinks of me? I don't know. I just know that 'Big' would take me whatever, if he ever levered himself off his fat arse and took a chance. Whereas 'Small' has experience of being married to a beauty. It didn't work out, so what am I worried about? No matter how much I diet and excersise I shall always have the appearance of a strapping great, pink cheeked farm girl!
Anyhow, I am shiny and slippery at the moment and would pop through either one's grasp.

In which I have them foaming at the gusset...

I've just had a brilliant idea for a new career. I shall become a chat line answerer. With my powers of 'reeling 'em in' I should have them foaming at the gusset within seconds! My power obviously lies with my sexy voice, which I must say has gotten a lot more Mariella since the chest infection and the fags, of course!
I could be doing anything while I'm relieving their frustrations. After all women can multi task so I could be sorting the washing, doing the ironing, mucking out the cat tray, or touching up me roots and they'd be none the wiser, and I could stay in me jim jams forever!
I have applied for another couple of jobs since I think my foray into the world of art therapy is coming to it's natural conclusion. One is yet another 'enabling service users to access the wider world' type thing, but it pays double what I'm getting. I may as well earn some money for being bored out of my brains.
NLI is really lovely with a capital L. He says all the right things and I love the way he calls me darling. Not like me mum, who calls me darlin' in the manner of Violet bleedin' Kray!
If all things pysical are ok with him I could be tempted to settle and stop pining for Big. He keeps playing hard to get, the twit. As for Boat, well, I think I frit him good and proper. Boat 2 hasn't paid me the required attention so he can go moor himself elsewhere.
Am frantically trying to lose another stone before a visit from NLI.
Son has to be dispatched to Vile Husband for some time, under protest. But I said 'Imagine if you don't go to Dad's and in the middle of the night you hear something, how much you're going to wish you weren't here!' They don't like thinking about their parents having sex. Imagine how awful it must be for them to be having sex with someone else's parent!
Hey ho, 3 weeks to go!

Friday, 8 May 2009

In which a nuclear warhead avoids me gusset

I was listening to 10 Radio yesterday and NOW I GET IT. I used to wonder why they all 'did it' but now I know. JM was talking about how if making a programme helps one person then it has all been worthwhile. Previously I'd thought that everyone involved imagined that they were broadcasting to the masses, but that isn't it at all. If someone cares enough to make a whole programme and even if it's only their granny listening to it, or, even if no one listens, the act of programme making is an end in itself. That hadn't occured to me before, but it is, of course, true.
I don't know why I didn't see it before. Particularly since I have had all these years involvement with Red Hat. I don't suppose anyone except me thinks that is very important. Even though it has made all involved a bit of dosh over the years. For me it is life affirming. I know that sounds a bit dramatic, but it really is! I have always said I'm not an 'artistic' artist and that I only do it as a job, but it simply isn't true. I only have to look at what I've produced this year and see how I've painted my way through a spectrum of colour, from one strange mood to the next. I am wandering aimlessly without Red Hat or even a place to show my pictures from. Maybe it's over for me, I'll have to wait and see.
R said he wants new love interest to go into 10 to be questioned to see if he is worthy of me. NLI says he'll do it if I want him to. Could be amusing. He is all very well, but I'm still sitting here blogging in the middle of the night instead of being ravished.
A cloud has appeared on the horizon with NLI. What is it with me? Why do I attract all these high maintenance men? Why can't they be lovely and simple with caveman type needs. Food, shag, sleep. I like my men to be like yogurt - thick and fruity!
Another long month of hanging around waiting to be boffed. I've lost all this weight, have been, waxed, polished, plucked, tinted, oiled and refined to within an inch AND I STILL HAVEN'T BEEN SHAGGED. All I've managed is a snog in a sodding car park!
That's it, I'm putting myself out there again. I have a new admirer. I have paid for my divorce. I have got new shreddies that fit and someone has got to see them soon!
Boat has dissapeared into the sunset. Imagine, captain of the only aircraft carrier to survive the Faulklands War, and I saw him off with me best black jim jams! The Argentinian armed forces combined were no match for him, but the thought of sending a warhead up me gusset floored him!
Oh well, there must be someone out there - there is, isn't there?

Tuesday, 5 May 2009

In which I have dream sex with Ray Winstone...a

I had dream sex with Ray Winstone last night, or it might have been Big, I'm not sure. Ray Winstone should be illegal. No one should be permitted to be that handsome and not be shared around his admirers. I thought I'd spontaneously combust when he began running his fingers across that woman's mouth. She didn't even bite him. I'm have bloody well inhaled him! Imagine that whispering in ones ear. He could read the yellow pages to me and I'd dissolve into a puddle of dna on the floor. Ed threatened to throw cold water over me and left the room while I was watching the tv. I've absolutely no idea what was going on I just lived from one shirtless moment to the next. Now there's a chap who could rip me power panty spanx off with a come hither stare. Imagine waking up with that neath the duvet, it's positivley gusset throbbing.
This blog is becoming boring without a large handful of Big.

Monday, 4 May 2009

In which the return of Big is unexpected...

I am reading Tennessee Williams 'Streetcar Named Desire' again. I knew it was a mistake because it just makes me feel all dissastisfied and morbid. Coupled with my fluffy kitten flu that has turned me into a seething mass of emotion. Imagine that under the duvet, when, the phone rings. At first I didn't recognise his voice and then, I realised, it was Big! Now, even though I have placed myself on an intensive programme to fall in love with someone sensible, the emergence of Big is always a disturbing influence. He says that he contacts me because he wants to know how I am. Oh yeah! I don't think he can admit to himself what's actually going on here. I do find it impossible to speak to him without imagining what might have been. Well, I think, what actually might be, if only he wouldn't keep on about being at death's door all the bloody time. Even if he is, a little time of something wonderful is worth more than a lot of mediocrity. I know, I've been there!
I hope he's not going to do the right thing and not phone me any more. I don't think he could anyway. Because he is denying his feelings and therefore wouldn't be prey to the 'if you love someone you have to let them go' school of thought.
Sensible secure future versus deep passionate love. I know which I'd choose. What about you?
I need to be apprehended forthwith before I put on me Laura Ashley frock and turn into a cricket wife.

Sunday, 3 May 2009

In which I have fluffy kitten flu...

I have to go to work tomorrow. What a horrible prospect. Still, I need to get some brownie points stored up so the fat wobbly hell hag lets me have the week in June off. Second reserve currently moved into pole position is coming for a holiday. Not staying here of course. Heaven forfend! I'm looking forward to it though. He is so sensible. I've decided that's what I need, a sensible chap. I need reining in regularly and I think he might just be the chap to do it.
Big is in my orbit again though. That would have been lovely but he plays too hard to get. It's my own fault, I reel 'em in with the written word but then they take fright and bog off!
Poor old Boat was obviously so terrified of me in me best jim jams that I think it'll be a long time before he pokes his snorkel above the waterline again. Anyway, his kitchen and bathrooms were bloody filthy. I'm not going to start cleaning up after the bastards again. I did that for vile husband and look where that got me!
I am suffering at the moment. I am absolutely not having flu named after a pig. I have fluffy kitten flu, or baby bunny flu. It's settled on me chest and with my chest that could prove fatal. I couldn't find any paracetamol so I had a bottle of red wine and an easter egg and that seemed to help.
Second reserve is short, fat and balding but he's clever, funny and he actually listens to what I say. I've got it so horribly wrong in the past that I am more than willing to give this a chance. I'm fed up with being on my own. Let's face it, a person interested in one is very interesting indeed. Apparently his wife was five foot two and a size eight. I could chisel a life sized model of her out of each of my thighs, for god's sake! Speaking of which, he's another religious one.
What is it with me and religious blokes? Are they trying to save me? I don't want to be saved I want to be ravished and boffed to within an inch of my life.
Rumour has it that just before the menopause you have a huge hormonal surge. Maybe that's it. Maybe I'm having one last attempt to get it right before hanging up me power panty spanx and taking solace from bingo and sanatogen. Anyhow, I shall meet him with a bottle of champagne in one hand and a jar of lemon curd in the other. Don't ask!!

Friday, 1 May 2009

In which I am stuffed all ends up

I have just lost my last outlet for sales. Oh what a bummer! I nipped into WM&T to see if I'd made any sales this week and no B. He'd gone and left the company so because we are great friends I've been chucked out too. A major league mistake on their part. Talk about shooting yourself in the foot! No B and no me. Wivey will take it's revenge!
What do I do now? Panic! Must find a gallery, or should I just pack it in.
I will sink now! But, as long as vile husband doesn't have to compromise his principles and take a job he doesn't want all will be well in the garden.
If there is a heaven I should get in as am now as poor as a Church mouse.
Hey ho, pass the vodka. Oh no I can't afford it.