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Wednesday, 29 July 2009

In which I will not eat a pie...

Well, darlings! Well not well, actually. One's delicate throat is sore and one has the most horrid ear ache. Dear little ear is a lovely shade of pink, sadly more suited to T shirt, not a body part. I shall relocate to Bloke's and let him look after Lovely Moi. I hope I haven't got that, and I can hardly bear to type it, Swine Flu! Apparently one of the symtoms is that one smells rather stinky. Well, dear readers, fragrant One is NOT HAVING THAT. I shall have fluffy pussycat flu and be delicately scented with Chanel No 5, as per usual.
Will Bloke still love me when I am a child abandoner? Boy seems delighted for me to vacate the premises for a few days. Heaven only knows what ruins I shall find upon my return. I know Boy will be alright in the tender care of Vile Husband. In fact, Boy will probably be looking after VH. The general level of mess is rather high on my daily return from work so what four days of Boy/Vile Husband detritis will resemble is positively horrifying for Lovely One.
VH thinks I am bonkers and for that matter so does BFP. They think it's all a bit quick to be so sure about Bloke and me wandering off into the sunset together. I would have said the very same thing to anyone else. But, I JUST KNOW IT'S THE RIGHT THING TO DO. My problem was, I was looking for a Primark handbag in Harrods. Not that I've ever been in Primark, obviously. Well, maybe Matalan, even Lovely Moi and BF have ventured in there. I suppose when I began my quest, I thought how lovely it would be to meet someone of social standing and plenty of handbag/shoe spends. Well, dear reader, I did. On more than one occassion. But how very boring they all were, and with no sense of fun whatever! I did like sailing and I do like big draughty houses, but they had big draughty hearts and no twinkle in their dull eyes. Now, darling Bloke, is the model of perfection in these areas. And I must say, even though I think it's horrid, I do agree with aged P that there's something wrong with a chap who doesn't like football. Wait for it, darlings, I would even be prepared to go to, what I believe is called, a FOOTBALL MATCH with Bloke. Obviously I wouldn't be able to wear a nasty orange scarf, or eat a PIE, or wave at a Mexican, I think you call it, but I would go, if lovely Bloke wanted me to. Anyhow what would be the point of dropping him off and going shopping in bloody, sodding Blackpool! I ask you, darlings, Moi in a 'Kiss me Quick' hat. I THINK NOT!

Tuesday, 28 July 2009

In which I fashion my Twinkle-Mink...

It has come to my attention that some of you poor darlings think I shall be ceasing to titillate you all with my derring do.
Fear not, dear readers, many moons shall pass before I shove off to deepest Devon. And anyway, think of the exciting life of an artist able to fleece all those holiday makers! They'll all have spends, and someone's got to relieve them of it!

I shall begin the pampering of lovely moi forthwith in preparation for my inspection of NS&I castle.

Off to Champneys to get my Twinkle-Mink fashioned into the shape of a burger van.

In which I surrender...

Well, dear reader, isn't it strange that you find what you've been searching for just where you weren't searching for it? I have been looking in all the wrong places. I have fallen in love, darlings, and what's more HE LOVES ME. Now that's a departure from the usual story of Lovely One's life. The most perfect man on the planet has fallen into the clutches, sorry, I mean arms, of Lovely One! It is utterly divine and has had no equal in the history of Planet Claire. Both being past the first flush of youth we have decided to throw our lot in together and just, I believe the saying is, go for it!I shall be deserting Rice Towers, with or without Boy, at the earliest opportunity. Boy hasn't yet decided whether to shear to Vile Husband's or to head into deepest Devon with Lovely Mummy.Haven't yet informed aged P's who will doubtless shriek in horror at current plans. I am expected to remain celibate until such time as Boy deserts me and leaves me to be eaten by the cats. NO, NO, NO.
There is life out there, and we intend to live it, together!
In my little narrative about my requirements for Bloke - 'A job and a pulse', how was I to know Bloke would have the most beautiful face, piercing blue eyes, steely grey hair (and beard), wonderful hands, a lovely smile, a voice that has one's thumbs gravitating toward one's knicker elastic and just about every attribute known to man.
LUCKY, LUCKY ME, DARLINGS.
Thank you to all the many contributors of advice...
Lovely D 'Under no circumstances wear the Cat Pyjamas' I did, again, so there!
BF 'You have gone mad and need HRT' - I didn't so up yer Bum!
Big - 'Drag someone off the streets' - as if!
PO - 'I can get you some Ann Summers stuff from a boot sale' - are you mad!
Little C - 'Go for it, Claire', - sensible advice, darling.
Polish A - 'Your hair is f*****g dreadful, straighten it' - YOU WERE CORRECT.
H - 'For goodness sake stop wearing baggy clothes', Yes, you were right too!
AIL - 'Play the field, don't get played', - Indeed!

Thank you everyone - I listened to all advice and ignored it!

And the biggest thanks to Bloke - I love you, you are the best thing that has ever happened to me.

PS - Bloke.
Your clothes will all be set fire too!

Monday, 27 July 2009

In which...

The selection process is complete.


More on that story later...

Thursday, 23 July 2009

In which I am ambushed and 'Made Over'...

Oh my giddy aunt!
I have been ambushed by lovely young care assistants at day job and dragged kicking and screaming into the twenty first century! Darlings, I kid you not, they literally pounced upon lovely one as I was occupied with my dear little hand shoved up a partially sewn up teddy bear's arse! Obviously, I was multi tasking at the time and delivering an interesting lecture on how to make felt beads, so was unable to resist or escape. I did however manage to disengage a pair of kitchen scissors from the clutches of a rather voluptuous Polish girl as she made fiendishly for my fringe.
'You are not haffing a dotter Claire and cannot f*****g know how to dress or have f*****g your hair', she shrieked as I manhandled the scissors out of her clutches. Her tenuous grasp of the English language is peppered with every obscenity known to man and sounds really rather disturbing when delivered from the lips of someone so young and lovely!
My students looked on in bemusement as H, owner of the enormous rabbits, came at me with some straighteners. Eventually, as they were mid discussion as to where I,
'Could f*****g get some f*****g clothes that fit', I gave in to pressure and allowed myself to be straightened.
I tell you darling readers, having lost such a huge amount of weight and looking, or so I thought, rather babe-licious, I wouldn't have thought there was much room for the improvement of lovely one.
BUT I WAS WRONG.
I now have very straight hair and look even more lovely than previously Lovely One!
BF and I are hitting the sales in order to,
'F*****g buy some f*****g clothes that don't hang on me like a sack.'
Straight hair, clothes that fit and nursing a very, very bad, red wine hangover, I shall point my Aston Martin in the direction of Plymouth and show Bloke how much fun can be had with Lovely Moi, for the entire weekend.
Don't panic, dear readers, morbidly obese cats and Boy will be cared for by Vile Husband. Yes, actually, having re-read that - DO PANIC!

Oh, and lest I forget, try to gloss over the fact that I couldn't speak without falling over me teeth, when Bloke telephoned to wish me goodnight!

MORE ON THAT TRAGIC AND DISGUSTING STORY LATER...

Wednesday, 22 July 2009

In which I meet a witch...

Yesterday I had my fortune told by a white witch. Well, she actually read the Tarot last week, dear reader, but went away with a concerned look on her face saying she'd return with a changed wind and spill the Haricots.
Dear little lovely one apparently has a 'new and stabilising influence' over her life. Can't imagaine who that could be if not Bloke. Also, lovley one has an abudance of 'positive energy' that one should be putting to good use. Maybe that's why I get up so early and send my thoughts off to you, dear reader.
An 'aggressive male presence' will confront lovely moi in the next three months and demand attention, but gentle one must be strong and act for her own good. I tell you, darlings, the way moi feels at the moment 'an aggressive male presence' would get a thwack round the ear with half a housebrick in my handbag!
The upshop of it all is that I have to light three candles and wish for calm, energy and enough material gain to satisfy need.
I have already begun by lighting one candle outside last night so's I could see to smoke a fag in the back garden, and get through it without flicking ash in me vodka.
Now I know all this stuff, I can change it if I want with positive thought. I may well have a go at that, but not 'til after the weekend since my schedule is rather overloaded.
Friday BF and I have to hit the sales since Lovely Moi's and BF's current clothing is now hanging on us like starvation victims having been on Frankie Pankie's strict regime for a while now. Well, apart from the BREAD incident, which will have a discreet veil drawn accross it.
Then, I'm meeting BK and KM in the Bear for cocktails and sushi. Well, Guiness, pork scratchings and a punch up, is more like it. Then, of course, I am booked in to inspect the living conditions of Bloke. I bet he's flicking round with a feather duster as I type. Well, he'd better be! Last night he suggested I went round on Friday evening and gave him a hand so that the place would be up to my exacting standards for Saturday.
Now, correct me if I'm wrong darlings, but this is what's on offer thus far:

Housework

Watching men in orange shorts kick a football around Blackpool (huh, that's as likely as going out without makeup)

Visiting BLACKPOOL - I THINK NOT

Refusing to make funeral pyre from awful Bloke type clothes.

Suggesting I buy clothes in Sainsburys

Expressing wonderment at general level of vodka and fag usage

The list goes on darlings, but I need to begin an aerobic workout to hone lovely one into shape so I can resist all these heady delights.

AND, BLOKE, REMEMBER, WHITE WITCH SAID I COULD CHANGE IT IF I WANT - SO THERE!

Tuesday, 21 July 2009

In which I am to be dressed by a supermarket...

Just a little 'add on' to todays diary...
Bloke informs me that Sainsburys sell clothes. I was struck dumb with the information. Surely Bloke can't imagine that lovely one could be dressed by a 'grocer' for heavens sake! What do they do? Pile little heaps of Agent Provocatuer in between the avocados and bananas. The mind is positively confused!
A trip to somewhere called 'Morrisons' has been mooted for the weekend to 'stock up'. Now, I'm hoping that's for shoes and bags at the very least.

If Bloke has the foolish notion that Mr Sainsbury will be clothing lovely one he is sadly mistaken, and furthermore, I shall be applying the old Grocer addage...

PLEASE DON'T SQUEEZE ME 'TIL I'M YOURS!

In which I am interrogated as to the happiness status of Bloke...

Someone has had the temerity to ask if 'Bloke is Happy'. I tell you, darlings, Bloke is beside his cuddlesome self with sheer delight. For one thing, he cannot beleive his luck in ensnaring such a divine creature as lovely one, and as for being permitted to spend masses of time in her delicious company, well, what sane man wouldn't?
He is having rather a disastrous effect upon the silhouette of lovely Moi though. Having been told 'not to lose too much more weight' and generally worshipped, big time, night and day, lovely one has not felt the pressure to continually starve lovely self. I did, of course, plan to starve until the wedding reception and then eat the entire cake, burp and go to sleep in a corner, and I should remember that cunning plan because even Bloke might go off lovely moi if I start ballooning moose style again. BF is currently sewing yards of Tulle, elasicated waist, of course into a voluminous Princess Diana style wedding frock for lovely one. Bridesmaids will of course be wearing lemon crimpelene A line, just above the knee dresses with ric rac braid sewn around the hem, so as not to detract from the vision of lovliness that will be lovely one. But, I get ahead of myself. For a start, both Bloke and One are still married to others. No matter, dear reader, a girl can dream!
Sadly instead of fresh white linen and canteens of silver plated cutlery, lovely one's 'Bottom Drawer' now contains Steradent, Tena Lady pants and walk frame polish.

An alarming turn of events has occurred in the 'in box'. A picture of blokes wearing orange shorts and T shirts has arrived under the guise of 'the other love of Bloke's life'. I am led to believe that these uncouth louts are 'footballers' who play for a team in, wait for it, bloody sodding Blackpool, darlings!

NEVER, NEVER, NEVER will Blackpool be visited by Lovely One. Why can't he support 'Bourton on the Water' or 'Knightsbridge' for heavens sake.

Ooh here's a thought - does Capri have it's own football team? If it does I expect their little uniform, well at least the wives one, will be kitten heel shoes, capri pants, divine little linen tops and Hermes headscarves. Chanel accessories of course.

THAT SOUNDS MORE 'MOI' BLOKE!

Monday, 20 July 2009

In which I eat even more BREAD and it's Bloke's fault...

Went back to the solicitor today to re-swear something about Vile Husband in order to offload him from my life for good. I can't believe I made a mistake on the flamin' form! Oh, alright then, dear reader, I can! I have the attention span of a goldfish. Is it age? Am I just plain stchoopid? Who knows? Who cares?
I was severly reprimanded by Bloke for not eating enough today. Well, darlings, that started off a feeding frenzy. I can't believe it I ate BREAD again. I alighted upon the kitchen like a sloth in black lycra in a quest to find something that wasn't the staple food of bunny rabbits. In no time at all I became a whirling dervish. I ate a handful of strawberries, shock, horror! Not enough! An apple! Half a packet of roasted broad beans, I kid you not!
AND THEN I SAW IT...
the loaf of bread, well that's what it was marketed as at the Community Market. Bloke was utterly horrified by it and I think his first impression may have been correct. It is entirely possible to comsume one's own teeth by accident upon biting into one of these home baked country delights. Anyhow, it had lain nonchalantly in it's little paper bag in the fruit bowl since Saturday. I know, I know, the fruit bowl, dear reader, why? Well, as a completely indeterminate foodstuff I wasn't sure where to shove it. Sadly it, in it's entirety, has ended up inside Lovely One! I'm sure I shall have put on at least an ounce when I sashay into fat club and be severly given a 'hard stare' by Frankie Pankie.
I knew I shouldn't have gone to the Community Market. It was one of the first places I ventured into when I came here from civilisation. Many beady, rhuemy, Women's Institute eyes alight upon one on entry.
Folded arms, like sides of ham, rest upon gravity adjusted bosoms and the low wailing and gnashing of false teeth ceases upon the arrival of a 'stranger'. One feels compelled to purchase something called a 'raffle ticket' in the delicious expectation of being the lucky winner of a croched bog roll cover or a lavendar bath cube and verucca removal set.
On moving into the main coven, one is generally confronted by the 'Pickled Egg Mafia'. A particularly gruesome Mother/Daughter combo, selling such heady delights as bath mats knitted from their own pubic hair. Well that's what it looked like to me darlings! How was I to know! Sorely tempted by a clock made from a CD I glided elegantly along to the cake stand which was manned by, wait for it, MY FESTERING MOTHER IN LAW. I feel fairly sure they only let her join in because it saves on butter to grease the cake tins, since she does it by inserting her greasy head into them and sloshing it from side to side. I tell you, dear reader, in summer months, one could literally fry things on that slimy old harridan.
'Hello dear', she falteringly whispered. But NEVER let that inoffensive 'little old lady' voice fool you. That woman isn't human! Having spawned Vile Husband and Weird Brother you'd think she could retire gracefully from her evil doings knowing she'd unleashed a pair of workshy lumps like that into the world to annoy fluffy little people like 'lovely one'. No, she was having none of that! We upped and moved to the back of beyond and she flamin' well followed us! Not only that she could SEE into our sitting room from where she lives! What's that all about?
Anyway, assuming I've filled in the forms correctly this time, they'll be history in a few weeks time and all I'll have as a reminder will be the towering presence of Boy looming over me saying,
'Is there anything to snack Mum?'
and, of course there bloody isn't, I've even scoffed an entire housebrick masquerading as a loaf of sodding BREAD.


ARE YOU HAPPY NOW BLOKE?

Sunday, 19 July 2009

In which a momentous decision is made...

Massively successful weekend with 'Bloke'. Divine 'Bloke' is perfect combination of grizzly bear and Ray Winstone as Henry VIII. Cat pyjamas not deployed. In fact, dear reader, have lost so much more weight, that cat pyjamas plumment to ground immediately upon deployment. Road tested black pj's again to great effect.
Boy sheared to Vile Husband's with a curled lip and raised eyebrow.
Have decided to retire from husband hunting and further explore bloke.

Saturday, 18 July 2009

In which I am not an amusement park...

Power panty spanx, steel encased vest - check. Exfoliated, oiled, (inside and out) Bloke minus 2 and counting.
Boy relocated at vile husbands
cats chucked in back garden
scented candles lit
futon deployed (as if)
Let's hope he doesn't treat me like a bloody sexual amusement park to be visited every few weeks to have a go on the rides, like that little twerp Gnome.

Picnic tomorrow, so I can do some sketching.
Big Boy's Breakfast - will be required - hopefully...

watch this space...

Thursday, 16 July 2009

In which I am landed on by a drip...

Sloshed up the road to fat club. Me lost another pound - BF one and a half. Managed to plunge into slime filled hole in road and filled up 'butter soft' little ballet pump with goo. Yum! Stinky green slime squidging between lovely one's cute little kissable, pink tipped toes, all sodding night!
Anyhow, I digress, I definitely lost more than one pound this week. Well I would have had my strict regime not fallen foul of 'Bloke' and the 'Wrinkly old Harridan' at day job. 'Bloke' so mesmerised me on Monday, staring into my eyes, before I knew it, wait for it, and I know I've blogged this before, but it's just so dire I'm having counselling to overcome it, I ATE A PIECE OF BREAD. If someone had stategically popped a pin into lovely one I may have exploded and floated off into the ether like some divine windsock.
'Wrinkly old Harridan' stuffed me full of veg on Thursday lunchtime, screeching something about me 'not ea'ing enuff'.
Vodka and fag session had to take place under the 'sun awning'. That's a bloody larf! The only thing that's been used for is sheltering under from the rain. Every so often it fills up rather precariously and I poke it with a stick so that the rain splashes over the side. Sadly, poor thing has been poked with a stick to the point that it now leaks and every so often a large drip landed on one's fag, putting it out. The chances of the drip landing directly on lovely moi's fag must be pretty remote, mused BF. I can't imagine why she thought that, throughout Lovely One's life she has been landed on by drips at regular intervals!

Wednesday, 15 July 2009

In which I am not allowed to shout 'Git yer burgers 'ere'...

Have awoken in the depths of night once again. How annoying! Thought those days, well nights actually, were over. Had delicious feeling that was somehow being protected from harm by waves of adoration from 'Bloke'. After all, am floating as if on cloud of 'I love you's, and 'you are so beautiful's' from said quarter. How jolly refreshing to be appreciated for one's true qualities by such a discerning and internationally travelled sophisticat.
'Bloke' is clearly happier being a 'Bloke' now and has mothballed his Admiral's clobber in favour of a pinny and a whtie van. I believe he said he has something called a 'burger van'. Now, correct me if I'm wrong, dear reader, but isn't that some kind of bistro on wheels that parks up somewhere positively vile and proceeds to feed the great unwashed masses? And, if I'm not mistaken a 'burger' is a sort of slimy round disc fabricated from squashed up pieces of dead animal. The flavour of which is iressistible to sports shirt wearing, shaven headed, GMTV watchers.
The whole idea sounds positively thrilling to Lovely One. Imagine...
Divine Moi, in Chanel pinny obviously, able to charm unwashed masses away from dead animal products and have them feeding their fat faced offspring on blinis and caviar in no time at all! I do believe there are even people in places like 'The North' who have never even tasted Sushi! And there's that idiot Gordon Brown spending time worrying about Crunchy Credit, when there are appalling attrocities like that happening under his fat nose!
Sadly, this will never come to pass, since 'Bloke' feels I may not be suitable for such things. I imparted this piece of information to 'wrinkly old harridan' mate at day job who shrieked and cackled saying,
'I would 'ave thought a bird wiv a gob like yours would be ideal for that.'
Now I know 'Lovely One' is from Luton and that grannie of said 'Lovely One' was indeed a market trader with exceptionally fine lungs, isn't it clear to one and all that I am now an educated trollop of culture?

That's it, off to take me teef art, bung 'em in a glass of milk stout and snuggle up wiv me whippet.

Tuesday, 14 July 2009

In which I offend the Big one, yet again...

I just cannot believe the cheek of it! I get in last night from a hard day at the 'special needs' frontline and bloody Vile Husband is IN MY FLAT availing himself of my coffee and biscuits, the swine! Not only that but, he and Boy are using my bestest camera to take pictures of the Xbox to put on my ebay account. I practically had to take to the streets to buy that flamin' Xbox. (actually that's a lie, I sold a painting of 'Snow over the Brendon Hills', one Saturday afternoon in the shop.) Anyway, they just don't get it, either of them!

AND IF VILE HUSBAND LEAVES A DIRTY TEASPOON ON THE DRAINING BOARD WITH THE CLEAN THINGS ONCE MORE - I SHALL SHOVE IT SOMEWHERE THAT WILL REQUIRE A VISIT TO A & E TO HAVE IT SURGICALLY REMOVED.

What is he doing in my flat when I'm out at work anyway? Why was he here? To answer all these questions and more, read older posts, dear reader. I am clearly too soft on abso bloody lutely everyone!!!!!!!!!!!

Moving on...
New man info...
N, who shall hereafter be known as 'Bloke' appears to be rather a sweetie! I have been submerged and wallowing in absolute adoration for a couple of weeks now, and do you know what darlings, I like it!
It's about time Lovely Moi had a dedicated admirer with all the passion of 'revolting old lesbian stalker'.

I told him about that last night. What is the matter with me? I know I go on a bit, but the two major topics of converstation this week, thus far, have been: Incontinent mice and my lesbian stalker and her didgeridoo.

I AM LOSING IT BIG TIME. (no offence Big) But I have offended Big. He sent me a pic of some fuschias in a hanging basket. Why? I don't know. After I'd made some scathing remark about them, I suddenly thought 'Oh, I bet he grew the revolting things'.
How was I to know he was some silly, provincial, Womens Institute type hanging basket lover?

No wine, now vodka, more aerobics. What is happening? Influence of Bloke perhaps?

Monday, 13 July 2009

In which I drink boiled sock water...

What a lovely man, darling readers! Beautiful clear intense blue eyes trained upon lovely one all day long! Fortunately unable to see absolutely clearly without spectacles, so couldn't focus on moi's slight imperfections, of which there are but a few.
Sadly all N's items of clothing must be immediately discarded in favour of ones of one's choosing. Smart casual, methinks. Why do attractive men wear ghastly clothes? I simply don't understand it. Even the deserving poor wouldn't want today's attire. Fortunately, lovely moi wore third best linen and M&S cut offs. I did wear the pink pumps though, couldn't resist it.
Had divine day and am looking forward to many repeat performances. I do like a 'blokey bloke'.
Lovely Gordon has another black mark in his copy book, however. Following his inability to turn up on Saturday night, offering some weedy excuse about Shiny little Man having to get immediately home to Mrs Shiny little Man. I followed advice to visit South Molton with darlingest N. What a vile place that was. Horrid little town all shabby and boring with the most unpleasant public houses one has ever had the misfortune to scoff in. But, was starving and consumed actual BREAD in desperation. Also later in afternoon ate two muffins, with butter, if you ever did.
Now look as if have swallowed a cushion and literally burst out of strides. Button popping off at such a furious rate as to embedd itself in tiled wall of kitchen.
Also tasted for the first and last time, Lap bloody song su flamin' shong tea. The distinct flavour of lightly boiled sock having been stirred with a burnt stick!

Having lovely N for Sunday lunch, literally I hope!

In which I am NOT WEARING PINK...

The deed is done!
I have telephoned and informed screensaver man that I shall indeed be trysting forthwith!
I did start waffling on the phone though, for some reason I saw fit to inform him that mice are doubly incontinent. Not appropo of nothing, as it may seem, dear reader, but as part of the story of a mouse stake-out 'neath my bed involving a dear little creature and the obese furryboos.
Not really the kind of conversation to have prior to meeting, what he hopes, is the love of his life. Still he'll have to get used to lovely moi's idiosyncratic ways, won't he?
The other major thing I'm trying today is:

NOT WEARING PINK

Radical I know, but am going for sophisticated moi today.

Watch this space...

Sunday, 12 July 2009

In which I assume the rescue missionary position...

I just cannot sleep, darlings, until I have unburdened myself to you. Lovely one has been, or is very shortly to be, dishonest! I know, I know, difficult to believe that a massive whopper could pass those angelic lips.
It has to be said, dear reader, it is more of a mercy mission...
Let me tell all...
Screen Saver man, he who begins every day by worshipping at the alter of divine moi, is clearly unable to wait until next Sunday for a glimpse of one in one's divinely smooth, soft skin. I fear the blue collar workers of Devon may be deprived of their lunch on a permanent basis if lovely moi doesn't feed the hungry desires of their local fast food outlet owner.
So, it has come to pass, that Boy is preparing to be so ill that I shan't be able to front up at the day job, thereby allowing a clandestine meeting of adorer and adoree in a car park somewhere on Exmoor. BF has been informed of the location just in case adorer steals lovely one and attempts to keep her to himself for ever!
This is, in fact, a distinct possibility since N, screensaver man, has cleary fallen H,L & S, for bashful little moi! All from that photograph taken by Vile Husband!
note:
Definition of a failed marriage - When one's husband takes one's photograph to put on a dating website!
Still, he has had moi practically interred in slavery for long enough now. In fact tomorrow morning I am taking the divorce papers to the solicitor and freeing up the way for husband numero deux.
Almost had kitten following umpteenth phonecall from N! He had only been planning to surprise one with a visit yesterday afternoon!
'so we could meet one another looking how we usually do', says he.
Not flamin' likely mate, methinks!
I was stood, standin' there in me black jim jams, knee deep in a pile of ironing and fag ends! Discarded wine bottles littered the antique persian, from the night before and picky little bits of the previous evenings mascara were nestling in the, admittedly very few, laughter lines on one's face!
Clearly I shall have to rise again in a couple of hours to beging the exfoliating, oiling, and scenting process.
I have acquired a new steel casing vest device, that, if worn with the heavenly Power Panty Spanx, should render lovely one a divine hourglass shape. Sadly unable to answer the call of nature in under two and a half hours though!
Steel vest device went into service for the first time on Breakfast Show with dear old A. Must remember to tuck it securely in this time, since A made one laugh and the heaving of one's ample bosom made it shoot up one's back like a flamin' roller blind!

Saturday, 11 July 2009

In which I wear my poor little self out in the service of others...

Well darlings, what a full on day it has been. Ended very well with a visit from W and S. Lovely supper, good company and a puddle sized amount of the European wine lake.
I really must limit my wine consumption or I shall end up looking like a moose again. But, dear reader, I have been living life at a breakneck speed today and needed something to calm me down. Not that 10 radio and the vicar's garden party are riotous events of sin and debauchery. Oh no, quite the reverse, in fact. We in Wivey are mostly a God fearing sedate lot indeed. Well the old ones anyway.
Breakfast show with dear old A went really well. A few telephone calls of support after I'd had my rant about the lack of wheelchair access to listed buildings. I wonder if EG or Jeremy Browne, our delicious local MP, will front up and make a big fuss about it. Someone has to!
Turns out A lived in Hampstead quite close to Vile Husband and lovely Moi! Small world and all that nonsense. He, obviously widly posh, us nouveau riche. Well, until the stchoopid eejit spent it all on big cars and then refused to work any more. Oh, don't get me started on that one again.
Currently being hotly pursued by a jolly nice sounding chap. Not a stranger to a days work, either! Meeting him next Sunday. Screensaver man - he, so should be in for some serious adoration.
Speaking of pursuers, that annoying little twerp C1 (gnome) has emailed me again!! I think I am now privy to more than enough information regarding his amours. I just do not need it explained to me any more. It is a sad story. It is not MY sad story. GET OVER IT
Back to the Vicar's garden party dear reader. Well, for a start it was in the Church. Not a very good place to draw and paint - not enough light. Hardly any visitors and only two takers for caricatures.Two women who wanted 'doing', sat down, didn't keep still and then cleared off saying
'We'll come back when you've finished painting it'.
Now, Lovely Moi is hugely talented, obviously, but even I haven't the skill to paint a portrait of someone I don't know if they bog off, for God's sake. AND, may I say, I simply couldn't match the lipstick colour, given that shade of orange was withdrawn from sale at Woolworths in around 1964!
I bet the cowboys and indians at Milverton's Church fete got a bit soggy. Their V came in for a chat. Massively younger than lovely Moi, yet sporting GREY hair, if you ever did! I really do think that God could have sorted her out with glorious blonde tresses for ever, given the fact she sashays round 24/7 spreading his love and whatever! If I were her, I'd be miffed in the extreme!
Made appointment with lovely D for hair attention before enchanting prospective new beau. D says that she's getting confused beween C1, C2 and Gnome.
How do you think I feel, darlings! I open my eyes each day not knowing which one of the strange beings will be heading gusset-ward!

Friday, 10 July 2009

In which I am an innocent (not) abroad...

I have yet again been admonished by Gnome,C1. This time for being trite about his lost love. FYI, vertically challenged one, my blog is for my and other's amusement. Even a humourless, control freak like you!
Were I in your minaiature shoes I'd be severly ticking myself off for upsetting lovely one!
For, let me tell you, you can't have been wallowing very deeply in despair, given what came to pass 'sous le duvet' of divine moi! In fact, I would imagine a mere paddle in the shallows of despair since you spent such an amazing amount of time 'grooming' lovely one until her tender little heart fell under your feindish spell!
Were you too bereft to avail yourself to the contents of Lovely One's cat pyjamas? No, you were not!
Did you set about reshaping the routine/habits/existence of Lovely One? Yes, you flamin' well did!
Did you dangle the prospect of being a Laura Ashley clad cricket wife before an innocent beguiling smooth skinned country girl? Yes you flippin' did!
You casually meandered into my pink and fluffy world in your little toytown vehicle and parked yourself 'neath my scented sheets for a week!
Divine Moi, having practically been ensconced in white slavery to Vile Husband for two decades,fell for it big style. (sorry Big, no offence)
Lovely Moi, pandered to your every whim and desire, and lets face it, you'd have to pay for that kind of service ordinarily!That is positively the last time I risk jeapordising my diet by consuming substances that are of unknown calorific value, well without some kind of jewellery having been purchased before hand!
So before you limp into another comely maidens boudoir and leave your colour co-ordinated t shirts all over the bloody floor, think on!
It is cruel and hearless in the extreme to dangle a life of bliss in front of such an innocent and tender hearted girl and then sod off to Spain on yer own.

In which I assure my place in heaven...

Darlings, I am ill! Last night was spent almost entirely bathroom bound.
'Oh darling, have you got someone to look after you', enquired C when I called her to cancel our morning.
Moi, with someone to look after lovely her! NO, only Boy, and frankly until he's hungry at some point and requires my culinery attention, I could be deceased and being consumed by the obese furryboos.
Have called BF and BFP who are also ill, so at least it's not some aquired violent reaction to vodka. I said to BFP,
'It must be something going around, because I'm never ill. I'm like some great healthly cart horse!'
'More like a racehorse, I'd say', says he.
And yes, I keep forgetting I've lost the equivalent of a small person, in weight. In fact, another four pounds at fat club yesterday. And after last nights little extravaganza, a few more I souldn't wonder, dear reader!
Gnome has found it necessary to prolong his bleeding heart story re: diseased/deceased person. He must suffer alone.

New radio show begins tomorrow morning at 8.00am until 10.00am.Listen in, darlings, 10 radio, 105.3fm, if you're local or www.10radio.org online, whereupon you'll have to download something to make it work.
After that, the vicar's garden party, which has relocated to the church because it looks like rain. I shall be flogging BF's exquisite textile designer stuff and lovely moi will be drawing caricatures of the great unwashed Wivey public for a tenner a throw so that the vicar can re-roof his church.
Lovely, lovely moi, so divine, shall definitely go straight to heaven.

Just one more thing, darlings.

One of you, my precious readers, is threatening to stop blogging herself! This cannot happen! I need her! Tell her not to go and abandon lovely one!
I do have her lined up as chief bridesmaid when I'v captured husband number two!
That should prove to be one of the most unusual performances of her career!

I FORBID HER TO LEAVE.
please sign up to make her stay.

Wednesday, 8 July 2009

In which I plan to entertain 'Shiny Little Man' and his Master...

On Saturday evening I am having a very small, select supper party. I know, I know dear reader, no dating, no trawling through the vast swathes of unnattached middle aged men who keep rearing their uglies!
A sophisticated evening of cultural conversation, divine cuisine and fine wine with 'Lovely Gordon' and his manservant, 'shiny little man'. Well, it will doubtless be sophisticated until we render ourselves completely lashed on vastly overpriced plonk and either fall over on the rug, or promenade 'up the pub' and point and laugh at the locals (us being from London, after all).
'Lovely Gordon', T, has always been called thus by divine moi, since I first say him from the stone mullioned window of 'The big house'. He has a compact and bijou cottage in the Mews, through the gate at the end of my drive. Gated, of course, to keep out such riff raff! I jest, dear reader, Lovely Gordon is utterly divine! I espied him contemplating his fig tree, holding a glass, as usual, and leaning back in a positively inhuman fashion in the manner of the Queen in Alice in Wonderland, or the angle of a spline.
nb
Spline, bendy thing used to draw double curvature on the engineering design drawings of aeroplane nosecones. Past life, dear reader, didn't realise I was that brainy did you?
Anyhow, he looked soooo interesting that I knocked on the door one day to demand an explanation as to why he handn't 'fronted up' at my current exhibition. I have never been welcomed so readily. Clearly he had mooned after lovely moi and hadn't plucked up the necessary to accost one in the street!
Following an afternoon spent wondering where to put his Georgian sofa whilst quaffing pudding wine, we parted firm friends and are ever thus!
please note re sofa:
Move the bloody thing somewhere that doesn't render everyone with a West Indian Arse having to climb over it because they can't squeeze round the front door!
I wonder if Shiny Little Man will be allowed to dine with us?
Any suggestions for menu gratefully received.
I do not want a repeat performance of last week's ghastly episode.

That was V V sad and I'm still not quite sure what it was all about. All I will say is, A fifty two year old man fluttering his eyelashes doesn't tend to be appealing, rather looking as if he may have cat fur in his eye, or worse, a nervous tic!

In which I am not staying in my box...

I have just received an email from Gnome, following his reading of my blog. It would seem he is mourning a lost love. He should have thought of that before! However, I am deeply sceptical and feel it is a teenagerish response to what I have decreed. Just because I don't want to be put in a little box of cotton wool and taken out at six to eight week intervals, I must be dismissed by a previous yearning. Well, that is that as far as I'm concerned! Silly man!
I have been manipulated for the last time in my life! This time I shall be pulling the strings, so beware!
I admit, lost love does sound tragic, but no one is certain that she is lost, she may well have just stayed with whoever it was that she had gone back to following a sojourn with Gnome. Still, if it makes him feel better, so be it.
Hereafter I do not, change my ways, brew four minute tea, eat horrid curry, get ready when I'm told, make coffee in a pot, stoop very slightly, burn nasty candles, watch Springwatch, go out with anyone wearing boy scout shorts, entertain the idea of listening to the story of anyones bowel movements, or operations, and absolutely not listen to any tales of their previous wives, and indeed their flamin' mothers.
All an enormous learning curve for me, darling reader, and no doubt more to come. However, am now in full dangerous lovely moi mode. So watch it everyone!

Tuesday, 7 July 2009

In which I am a screen (goddess) saver...

Well, dear reader, I got caught up in my own web of intrigue at last. It was bound to happen, given my recent completely bonkers behaviour. I think I went over the edge a bit about dear gnome. I have no doubt that if he were here on a permanent basis all would be well, but I really do need constant monitoring!
Fortunately, my inadvertant swap of two emails involved Big. He 'lol'd as usual. And my saying it doesn't matter because it was Big is not meant in detrement to him, I know you're reading this darling Big, but rather because we have become special friends over the months. He calls me 'Pickle' because I'm always in one!
I am having really annoying problems with my land line and found it necessary to email the information to a prospective admirer. An admirer, who, has set my picture as his screen saver. Now to some, darling reader, that might sound positively stalkerish, but to sad and lonely lovely moi, it's flamin' fan flippin' tastic! I need some absolute adoration! Hook line and sinker is the phrase I'm looking for, and long may it continue. It was very dissapointing with C2 since he was, on paper, such and extraordinary prospect. Sadly, plimsolls and a raging drink problem cannot be overlooked simply because he was fiendishly handsome.
So, onward and upward, darlings, N (screen saver man) takes pole position as of now. Gnome and I were never meant to be. He too organised, me too erratic.
Hey Ho no vodka tonight!

Sunday, 5 July 2009

In which I behave very badly indeed...

He said in an email 'I'll be gutted if it doesn't work out.' And gutted he was. Not an expression I use or sanction personally, but yes, in this case absolutely right. Following a week of telephone calls and emails I met C2 last night. We had so much in common that from initially arranging to meet for a drink, changed that to a meal, and then changed it again to supper at my house, going to the local pub and them him 'crashing' on my futon. (his word, not mine)
When he got here I couldn't believe how handsome he was. He had utterly mesmerising blue eyes, a beautiful face and curly dishevelled grey hair. He wore a white linen shirt, chinos and strangely inappropriate footwear. I ask you, dear reader, PLIMSOLS and no socks! Although frankly he could have been clad in almost anything and would have looked utterly delicious. He looked like the mutant fusing of Ronnie Biggs and Barry Manilow. Sounds scary, is scary, but it works, darlings, it works!
Let this be a salutory lesson to you girls, if it sounds too good to be true it is!
I'm still ploughing the 'gone completely mad' furrow with C1 and, frankly, darlings I may be right this time! I can't see me pulling off this long distance relationship deal. At this moment I need constant monitoring to remain anywhere near sane. If I have six week intervals between seeing him and then adolescent shagfests I shall tip right over the edge in no time at all!
Anyway, 'Hey Ho' as C2 is so fond of saying, lets get back to last night, dear reader. I did actually behave pretty appalingly throughout. I was practically lashed by the time he got here, having spent almost half an hour glued to the same spot so that my hair didn't move. The only bodily movement was necking back far too much wine. He brought with him a bottle of what can only be described as fizzy ribena and so that went down too! That made me burp which obviously rendered me irresistible. I really couldn't be bothered to get any supper and reluctantly threw together a bit of M&S salad with some wildly overcooked tuna. The poor sod looked as if he could have done with a decent meal as well.
It's just come to me who he put me in the mind of, darling reader, that bloke in 'Withnail and I' He certainly was mad, bad and dangerous to know.
He had the utter temerity not to fancy lovely one! But, oddly enough, darlings, I didn't fancy him. It started off ok but half way through the evening we both sort of switched off. Don't know why, don't really care.
He definitely had a bit of a drink problem, big style!
I'm jolly glad I didn't wear the Divine Lanvin pumps. Shoes like that can't go out with plimsols! It would be like Jude Law dating Kathy Burke, for God's sake!
I did myself up like a ninepenny dinner and looked a right trollop. I must get rid of that enormous chiffon shirt it makes me look like a sodding boy scout tent. But, ok, last night I did need it a bit because wine always make me look like I've swallowed a cushion.
So, darlings, what looked really good wasn't. AND I used up the last bit of the fab bronze eyeshadow that I've been saving since 1987. How pitiful that it had to breathe it's last accompanied by a greek god wearing plimsols.
AND I DIDN'T EVEN GET SNOGGED
Hey Ho - pass the vodka!

Saturday, 4 July 2009

In which I am now certain.....

have definitely gone completely mad

Friday, 3 July 2009

In which I am a loser...

Woke up really early today despite going to bed really late. The nuerotic blackbird has been screeching from dawn until well after dark yet again. It's like torture listening to it all the time, especially in my current dark mood.
Didn't get any painting done.
Went into the radio studio this morning to see A and organise our first breakfast show on Saturday 11th July. I know that it will be fun. We haven't worked together before but I think his formal,serious attitude will mesh rather nicely with my completely stark raving bonkers self.
BF thinks I still have some realistic judgement of situations and since she is my campaign manager I have to assume she's right. I doubt it though. My emotions are all over the place and are not to be trusted.
We had lunch in our favourite place and then did a bit of retail therapy. Not that I should have been spending anything, but one needs clothing, doesn't one?
At least I shall look rather splendid when I'm put out on the street for not keeping up the mortgage payments.
Saw darling P and told her about CWT and his interesting career. We have arranged for me to interview him in early August. Well, I haven't actually asked him yet, but A is confident of my persuasive abilities and doesn't think he'll be able to resist me. I hope he's right since that man can talk for ever!
Feeling really low and miserable. Am a stupid old idiot. Whatever was I thinking. I shall remain alone and be eaten by my cat.
Thank you for all the positive comments and emails. Don't indulge me, I deserve all I get for being such a loser.

Thursday, 2 July 2009

In which I am the idiot everyone suspected I was...

I feel quite sad today. I have definitely decided that I cannot be 'put on trial' by Gnome. He doesn't see it that way, but I do. I have been left to reflect in the cold light of day and I just can't put myself through any more. I'm not strong enough. I so enjoyed our time together and wanted him to feel that it was the seal on the time spent getting to know one another, but he didn't. I was utterly bereft when he left here and I don't want to feel like that again, which is what will happen every time. He will come back from his holiday relaxed, which is lovely and how it should be, but I shall still be overworked and stressed without the possibility of a rest. I am tired, worn out, and demoralised. I don't think many people know what it's like living hand to mouth and working all the time. I don't want someone to rescue me I just need someone in my life now, not it a years time! I want to live in the day and I'm going to. It isn't possible for him to neatly tie up his life/family etc and then plop into my life when it suits him. I think the prospect of living here is more attractive to him than the thought of living with me. I wish it was different, but it isn't. It's like Big says,
'It is what it is.'
And I am a stupid fool for thinking it could be different.

Wednesday, 1 July 2009

In which I am being frightened off...

I have been thinking following a chat with BF. When BF met BFP they knew they were right for each other straight away and everything else in their lives just had to fit in around their decision to be together. Why can't it be like that for me and Gnome? I'll tell you why, dear reader, and I shall tell myself why too! It's because, yet again, I am expected to fall in with someone else's plans. I know Gnome has responsibilities, but, if he felt committed to me, and said he was committed to me, it wouldn't be so bad, but he doesn't and he hasn't. He's off on hols without me. Albeit a holiday that was organised before he met me, but he still wanted to go without me and that I perceive as a problem. I really don't want to be on the sidelines until it's convenient for him to see me. It isn't fair and it isn't right. I want it to work out, but how can it? I'm still rattling around on my own and I just wonder what I'm expected to do if he 'decides' I'm not 'right' in October! Quite how he can know that October will be the time I can't imagine. It reminds me of J who hung on and hung on with S just in case he fell in love with her. Well that's almost acceptible when you're young and don't know any better, but for a person of my age it's utterly ridiculous. From my standpoint, having spoken for such a long time, I knew that I would know, when we met, and I did. It's hardly surprising that I feel like this when Gnome is so utterly adamant that he can put a timescale on his feelings. He will frighten me off. He has begun to already.
I have to protect myself against a repeat performance of my treatment by Vile Husband, who took almost delight in informing me that he didn't love me. I simply cannot go down that path again! With such long gaps in between seeing Gnome, I don't see it! I want it be, but how can it?
If you read this, please give me some advice, my feelings are notoriously unreliable and my judgement clearly cannot be relied upon in these matters.