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Tuesday, 25 August 2009

In which I am the luckiest Lovely One ever...

Back at Rice Towers for a brief visit. Now when I drive into Wivey the rolling hills before me don't have the same effect. I remember when I couldn't wait to come home and thought I would never leave, but now it's just a reminder that I want to be in deepest with my one true love. I wasn't going to go this weekend but find I can't stay away. Rice Towers is now for sale and I'm not letting it as I shall never come back here to live. The matrons of The Malthouse have made themselves rather unpleasant with the prospect of my letting the flat and saw fit to harrass me whilst I was away last weekend with threatening phone calls regarding their requirements to vet any prospective tenants. When I first came here I infiltrated their ranks in order to offer a more reasonable opinion of matters arising, and now I'm on the receiving end of their vitriol for daring to make my own decisions about my own property. So be it. I shall leave and live a life of happiness with my lovely Bloke. It's taken a lot to find him and we both realise how lucky we are to have one another. A new adventure beckons with all that holds and I can't wait for it to begin. Boy is happy to be spending time with Vile Husband and I think they'll muddle along just fine. I shall be in snuggle heaven for the rest of my natch and what a fabulous time we shall have together.
Have met offspring and they are perfectly charming too.
All that's left to do is organise move and begin my new life with the one I love.
Oh lucky, lucky Lovely One.

Wednesday, 19 August 2009

In which I am utterly special needs out...

Well darlings, what a day! The mentally challenged have driven me completely bonkers. I shan't miss them one bit when I sashay off to deepest. There were two tattooed articles erecting a fence in the garden whilst I was attempting to bring some art and culture to the afflicted this afternoon. Sadly the afflicted were intent on spooking the fence men and trying to dive into each fence post hole that was dug. I tried sweet talking, food, being stern and finally lifting the little blighters off the grass and depositing them inside the building. Oh my, it was a divine afternoon. Then, an exciting trip to Asda before making the darlings some supper. I am absolutely worn out with it all. Most of the minders are a good thirty years younger than Lovely One and this afternoon it certainly began to be come all too apparent. Anyway, dear reader, I shall be shearing in a very short while and never ever want to administer to the afflicted ever again. I do salute those who do, but tis not for Lovely One!
I fear I may encounter Mrs Bloke numero deux on Saturday when she comes to collect her mail. I shan't hide, or go out this time, after all we are all adults and lets face it she can't be as lovely as Lovely One, can she?
I shall of course be beautifully groomed and dressed and creating another masterpiece when she arrives. I shall remain serene throughout. I hope she's not one of these women who 'don't want him, but don't want anyone else to have him' types.
Also meeting offspring this weekend. What to wear? What to say?
'Hello I'm your new Mummy' maybe not!
Am so looking forward to seeing lovely Bear again. Who'd have thought it? Lovely One finds Lovely Lovely Love! How utterly divine!
Before that having lunch with BF since if forced to go to vile day job once more this week will expire with exhaustion. Big Wobbly One will be beside it's nasty self with rage but so be it. I've had enough this week darlings.

Monday, 17 August 2009

In which I plan my departure...

In the grey, greatcoat my life has been cloaked in thus far, a little pink silk pocket of happiness has been discovered. I have had a lovely long weekend in deepest Devon with my Bear yet again. It was really horrible to be wrenched away and have to go back to my ghastly day job. However, one bright spot on the horizon is that I have given in my notice and will be leaving on 10th September. I have tried to make the best of what has been a bad situation, but can honestly say, I HAVE HATED EVERY MINUTE OF IT! Someone else will have to devote themselves to the care of the afflicted, I'm off! I shall spend my time looking after Bloke Bear and painting.
The poor dear has missed me during the long and silent night and I am required to return as soon as I can.
Boy is de-camping to Vile Husbands with great haste and I am packing up the apartment for the new tenants.
Oh my, dear reader, the end of an era. Hopefully, the beginning of a new and lovely, divine one in deepest.
all starting tomorrow when the decree nisi arrives. what is that? Is it a period of time during which one may change one's mind? Not bleedin' likely, darlings!

Wednesday, 12 August 2009

In which I whinge and whinge and scoff berries...

Simply cannot continue attending to the needs of the afflicted on a daily basis any more! I do not want to be grabbed, slobbered over, kissed, groped, have my hair pulled or be generally ordered around like a skivvy ever again. Another fifty eight page document arrived today outlining the various rights and requirements of said afflicted which must be adhered to. What about the rights of the poor sods who work for a pittance to administer all that nonsense? The idiotic twits who come up with all this piffle should be made to spend a few weeks at the coal face with the rest of us and see how they like it. Rant, rant etc...
Soon this should all be a dim and distant memory when darling Bloke rescues Lovely One from her purgatory. I shall sit serenely at my easel and paint whilst great big bear bloke holds my brushes and gently soothes my fevered brow. Well, dear reader, when he gets home from feeding the great unwashed of deepest Devon, that is. Not that Lovely One actually needs rescuing, since have always been entirely capable of looking after self in manner of skinhead from Luton, by administering a swift left hook to anyone who severely tests one's patience! Ask Vile Husband! He's been on the receiving end when I could stand no more.
'I don't find that kind of behaviour very attractive', says he staggering to retain his vertical stance. Nor do I, believe me, but it doesn't half make one feel better!
Alluding to Vile Husband, darlings, you'll never believe this! I telephoned him to ensure that he would be able to spend time with Boy this weekend whilst I go and get worshipped in deepest Devon, and he ummed and aahed about it. It would appear that the unemployment office have made an error in his claim and he's not getting any free money at the moment. Now, dear reader, call me old fashioned, but why doesn't the lazy, pathetic reptile get a job? Anyway, the upshot of the conversation was that I should leave sufficient funds to feed Boy. Oooh, I wonder if I'm going to be bankrolling the weekend meals of a certain Vile Husband too?
Am currently suffering from scoffing blackberries whilst walking home up the hill and have just consumed a box of cherries and one of strawberries which hasn't helped.
Lovely One is feeling rather sorry for herself, as you may have gathered, and shall therefore head off forthwith, to Bear's furry arms for some much needed pampering.
see you next week!

Tuesday, 11 August 2009

In which I am very, very lucky...

Off to see Bloke Bear on Thursday after day job. Asked Vile Husband to keep an eye on Boy and he said that might be difficult since he had no money. I said, like last time, I would give Boy money. I fear I may be feeding Vile Husband too!
Every day spent without Bloke is a day used up, not lived. He is adorable. I shall marry him asap. Then I will be Mrs Bloke.
I really never thought I'd want to leave here, but now I can't wait!
I do have a slight concern that Bloke is buying EAR PLUGS! Surely the birds in Plymouth can't be that noisy! I simply cannot believe that Lovely Moi SNORES. It must be a joke. He has also said that at various times throughout the night he has to get up and sit on the edge of the bed, since I sleep like a starfish and shove him out. It's all filthy lies I tell you, dear reader. A little angel like me - NO!
Soon I shall go and never come back and I can't tell you, darlings, that it will be anything other than the best thing I've ever done. Isn't it lovely to have lovely, lovely love, even when One is rather past one's best.
Lovely M says that she hopes Bloke knows how lucky he is. Well, darlings, I am the lucky one!
Bloke doesn't realise how successful I've been with my painting and has indicated that he doesn't want me to be disappointed. How surprised is he going to be when he is kept in a style to which I hope he can become accustomed.
Clever, clever Lovely One, to find such a divine bear.

Saturday, 8 August 2009

In which we take the night air...


Sssh, be very quiet, dear readers, tiptoe around like tiny mice, please! There is a big cuddly bear asleep in my bed.
'Who's that sleeping in Goldilocks Lovely One's bed?' I thought as my baby blues took in the first light of day through their double row of long curly eyelashes.
'Ooh, it's a lovely great big Bear', One smiled, snuggling up.
I think he may need to be left alone in there for some time since he prefers to stay awake all night watching over Lovely One as she lays in a dreamy cloud of honey coloured curls on her pink satin pillow. The gentle rise and fall of her voluptuos chest mesmerising him into a protective trance.
Big Bloke Bear says he can't sleep because Lovely Moi snores like a Buffalo after sixteen pints of Guiness and a Moose curry, but Lovely One KNOWS this is just what passes for humour in Deepest Devon.
Yesterday evening we sashayed into darkest Wivey town centre in order that Bloke could take in the night air and sample the local hostelry, 'The Bear'.
Utter commotion occuring, as usual for a Saturday night. Smokers spilling out of The White Hart onto the pavement, and that means the pub's almost empty, since nearly everyone is a fag hag.
We opted for the Bear garden, where fat tummied teenage girls were practically devouring lanky, skinny boys all over the show! One rolling a cig behind the back of some callow youth as he burrowed deep into her enormous chest and very nigh suffocated, darlings! They occasionally came up for air, a slug of snakebite and a lungful of golden virginia.
Inside was thick with the aroma of farmhand and rosy cheeked country girl, cow pooh, fresh sweat and Spar value soap. The noise was utterly unbelievable, dear reader! Comes from having to shout over the racket of the tractor all day, I expect.
We took the long way home in order that I could point out the local attractions. Sadly there didn't appear to be any, other than dear little darling Lovely Moi, who got snogged like a teenager under every available lamp post.
They'll all be freshly scrubbed and in their Sunday best singing praises to the Lord in an hour or two, and leave cleansed and forgiven to do it all again next weekend.
Ho hum, pass the cider, me ol' luvver!

Friday, 7 August 2009

In which I lunch with a recently savaged dear old A...


Had lovely lunch with dear old A, who had to dash off after about twenty minutes following several messages on Blackberry, to the doc's since had been savaged by abnormally gigantic dog type animal yesterday. Dined at 10 The Square. A little haven of sophistication in the middle of tractor driving, horse pooh shovelling, alcohol fuelled Wivey. Oh, I shall miss it, and all it's wonderful people, who made me so welcome just when I needed them most. But I love Bloke and wherever he is, that is where you, darling readers, will find Lovely One. Utter, utter bliss!
Back to dear old A...
We sorted out a schedule for tomorrow's radio show. Co-incides with Taunton Flower Show, which will be organised to the last petal by darling P and the Wing Commander, so of course many songs about flowers. Lots seem to have 'roses' in the title, ever noticed that, darlings? Anyhow, I digress, yet again. Have read local papers and picked out one or two stories to warble on about, but, since in such utterly lovely mood lately, can't think of anything to rant about. Following A's hasty departure to have, no doubt, many, many stitches and an injection in the bottom, I espied the PM's scarfing down a carafe or two in the sunshine. Had lovely chat with them and tried to put off PM, female, from working in 'care.' PM, male, had tried unsuccessfully himself and was glad of someone from the 'inside' to have a bash. I imagine PM, female, had visions of self in some divine, crisp white, Flo N, get up, holding a frail old wrist and perusing a little silver watch stapled to her left tit.
Well, let me tell you, PM, female, you will be sworn at, spat at, generally abused and up to your tiny pink elbows in poop! Your work colleagues will be the, otherwise unemployable, young, thick, foreign, drunken, tattooed morons. You will be an exquisite tropical fish out of water. AND, as PM, male, has said you have a myriad of other talents. DON'T DO IT!
Had lovely chat with darling Bloke who loves Lovely Moi 'more than anyone in the world has ever been loved'. Well, I should hope so! Can't wait to see the big old bear!
But before then...
Shall take up residence outside Whelans after my radio show, with the big gang of bonkers old menopausal women and their dogs, and BF, of course, smoke fags, drink coffee and generally have a big old laugh until we fart! Well, BF will, Lovely Moi won't, OBVIOUSLY

DIVINE SOPHISTICATION DARLINGS. DON'T YOU JUST LOVE IT?

Picture of BF scarfing Scrumpy at Tarr Steps. Boy and Lovely Moi tried to dash off and leave her there when the Tena Lady pants could no longer cope with the overflow, but she's quite fast for a fat girl!

Thursday, 6 August 2009

In which I bid adieu to Big, for now anyway...

The end of an era. Big is moving. Big has been with me on the journey of discovery that has been going on for what must be around eight months now. We have never met, spoken a couple of times, but have emailed one another every day.
At first, Big wanted to go and live in Portugal when he'd sold his house and divorced his wife. It now seems he is moving to Devon to live in a mill house.
I was, and have always been, looking for love. I had absolutely no idea what form it would be in, but was obviously looking in all the wrong places. All my life I've been searching for Bloke, and I didn't even know it!
Anyway, darling readers, I hope you all wish us both luck as we begin our new lives in deepest Devon. I'm sure Big and me will keep in touch when he's email capable again because he's been threatening to buy a painting lately and I'm never known to miss an opportunity. Goodbye, or au revoir, Big, for now at least, and I hope you find what you're looking for.

As for Rice Towers, the first to look around wants Lovely One's taseful, little heavenly home for their very own. I shall meet with dangerous rich boy again on the morrow and read him the riot act. I can't dissmiss him entirely, even though his reputation goes before him, as believe it or not, dear little angelic Lovely Moi used to be a bit of a hellraiser in her youth. It is absolutely not the case that one gets the face one deserves since if that were so, I'd look like Iggy Pop.

Then the next thing will be to find homes for the morbidly obese pussy terrorists. I know, I know, dear reader, I am a child abandoner and a pussy murderer. They can't come with me darlings. They are too old and too prone to destroy all in their wake to expect another, particularly one with a dog, to take them on. AND, in my defence they are Boy's pets and Vile Husband and Boy DON'T EVEN WANT THEM.
As for Vile Husband, decree nisi on 19th August and divorce six weeks later.

Lunch tomorrow with dear old A to talk about Saturday's Breakfast Show on 10radio. I am in such a divine mood I can't think of a thing to rant about. Although having said that, Bloke has been complaining about Lovely One! The sharp intake of breath is audible, dear reader, as I hear you gasp, 'This cannot be the case. What can possibly have happened?'
Well it is thus...
Bloke has, wrongly I am certain, accused Lovely One of SNORING! and, furthermore, with such gusto that the great big Blokey Bear can't sleep!
I have questioned him as to whether the sound isn't possibly more like the gentle footsteps of an enchanted fairy skipping across a dew drenched meadow, but he says no, it's more like a TRUFFLING HOG! Well, imagine it, Lovely One, in the land of dreams, looking serene with her beautiful blonde hair framing her angelic slumbering face on a scented satin pillow. No, I won't believe it, I can't believe it, he'll be telling me I fart in my sleep next.
AND EVEN IN THE REMOTE POSSIBILITY THAT I DID I EXPECT THE SOUND TO BE OF DISTANT BELLS.

BLIMEY, BLOKE MUST REALLY LOVE ME!

Wednesday, 5 August 2009

In which I parade with me frock stuffed down me pants...

The day of the garden party. We had a duck colouring competition which was well attended and enjoyed by everyone. The raddled old kitchen harridans did us proud with what looked like kit-e-kat vol au vents and puke pizzas which went down a treat. There's always the odd 'Prada Willi' personage who hurtles toward any plate of food within and arms reach and has to be wrestled to the ground by some Wellington teenage tatooed young 'lady'. I'm sure they employ these enormous Vicky Pollard lookalikes on purpose, since it is one of the requirements of the job that one is able to put a six foot, nineteen stone, challenged person in an arm lock. An ordinary member of the public chancing upon a gathering such as happened today would retreat in horror. In fact, Boy came last year and vowed never to enter such an establishment again.
Lovely Moi made a right tit of herself by sashaying and entire circuit of the house and grounds with me frock tucked in me knickers! Was alerted to situation by large, loud voiced girl shouting, 'Oi, Claire, you've got yer skirt stuffed down yer pants'.
Even 'She who must be obeyed' was in a reasonable mood for a change. Still, I shall book Monday as a day's holiday when she's not there.
Darling Bloke was tired and in need of some tender loving care from Moi this evening. I am looking forward to mopping his fevered brow and generally pampering him to within an inch of his life on a daily basis.
Isn't it divine, dear reader, to love and be loved in return!

Tuesday, 4 August 2009

In which I am a pink pepperami...

Hello darlings, from deepest Somerset. Soon to be deepest Devon. What an adventure for Lovely Moi, and at such an advanced age, not that you'd know to look at One, obviously. It shall be my last 'bolt'. Well known as a 'bolter' in my youth, I regularly sheared rather than attend to any unpleasant situation that may have reared it's ugly. Remained shackled to Vile Husband for far too many years in the manner of some Victorian housemaid in order to train Boy to be like everyone else. It is entirely possible to train the mildy Autistic to blend into society. The only visible difference now is the aloneness and constant Star Trek watching. Anyway, dear reader, Lovely One is now rather tired and in need of care and attention herself so shall leave Boy and Vile Husband to their own devices at least until Christmas in order to surrender to the arms of Bloke who is like a delicious cuddly bear.
I shall sink into his furriness and not come up for air until the winter frosts have abated.
I feel I should tell you about Bloke now, since he is clearly the love of Lovely One's life. Fancy that, darlings, finding true love so late in the afternoon!
He is A MAN. Obviously, I hear you all chorus. Not so, he follows on after a long line of excuses for manhood. Look at Vile Husband for heavens sake! Anyway, I digress.
Bloke is big and handsome and when he wraps his muscular arms around tiny one she very nearly struggles for breath. And following a slathering of ylang ylang scented oil all over the baby soft skin of Lovely Moi, one almost shoots straight out of Blokes arms in the manner of a divine, pink, scented Pepperami shooting out of it's skin.
Those things always worry me, dear reader, sliding out of their little sheaths like mummified willies! But I go off at a tangent, yet again. Back to Bloke.
Bloke is exactly that. He does all Blokey things, like watching football and cricket. I fear I shall be required to watch football in bed wearing nothing but an orange bobble hat and a 'come hither' smile. But, anything for Bloke.
Bloke is hard working and actually wants to look after Lovely One. One shall, of course, be knocking out artistic masterpieces at a rate of knots instead of attending to the needy and bonkers so shall probably be looking after Bloke too. But that's how it should be. BF says that I might feel a bit sad to think that my life should have always been like that, but One is just serene in the knowledge that we shall have all of the rest of our lives together.

In order to facilitate the move to deepest Devon I have decided to let divine apartment instead of selling it and to that end, showed two delightful young men around. Feeling that the Malthouse may not be the ideal place for two funloving teenagers, I imparted the information that the Malthouse is a very quiet sedate block run by a gang of middle aged and elderly harridans, of which I am one.
'We aren't looking for a place to party, but somewhere to make a home together' they said.
Now, I realise that Lovely Little Blonde Moi looks like an innocent Angel that's fallen to earth from a heavenly cloud, but really, boys, one wasn't born yesterday!
Unless they can front up with enough cash deposit to cover complete re-decoration, new kitchen, new bathroom and garden overhaul, they can 'set up a lovely home' elsewhere.
Honestly, I'm not as daft as I look, darlings!

Bloke - I love you more than anything in the world, I surrender.

Monday, 3 August 2009

In which I may not be what I seem...

Bloke has just asked what I consumed for supper. He is always rather concerned about my lack of food itake, bless him! I told him I'd had a nutritious meal of fish fingers and jelly babies. Sometimes One just has to pander to the child within, doesn't One dear reader?
Well, on imparting this exciting news, I went on to tell darling Bloke that when I was a little girl the milkman used to give me a box of sweets every Friday. One week it would be Jelly Babies, in the days when they were packaged in a little cardboard box, and the next week it would be Dolly Mixtures. I then recalled that Mr Toyer in the village hardware shop would also give me a box of fruit gums on my regular visit with dear Mama every Friday. I have since recollected that almost all the purveyors of produce in the village would present me with little gifts on a weekly basis. Now, I'm sure you will understand, darlings, having seen the photo of divine Lovely One that as a child I was an absolute angel of a thing with bouncing blonde curls and peaches and cream skin. Not unlike today, I hear you chorus. But, and Bloke drew this to my attention, no one, not even lovely Moi, can have been that cute and irressistible. He has ventured to suggest that Dear Mama may have been, at the very least, parading her wares in a provocative manner to all and sundry. Bloke has suggested that I am given first, two pints of milk and thence a hammer, nail and piece of wood to conjure with in order to ascertain my true parentage.
The very idea!
I am sure I am the foundling offspring of pre-raphaelite beauty and a member of the landed gentry at the very least!
But, then again, no one gave me a pony, did they, darlings?

Sunday, 2 August 2009

In which I make Doormouse Wellington...


Well now my darlings, Lovely Moi has found TRUE LOVE at last. It just kind of snuck up on one without one noticing.Have just returned from deepest Devon, where I shall be residing as soon as Rice Towers has a purchaser. According to estate agent man, one's apartment is worth more than one paid for it and has completely bucked the trend. Hoorah! Am currently researching statement handbags since, obviously, Bloke will want me to spend wisely.
I shall retire from assisting the needy and bonkers and devote myself to painting. I have investigated the galleries on the Barbican and yippee, nothing and no one as wildy talented as lovely one. I did have a small quiver re: leaving Wivey on Saturday, but BF put me straight. Bloke says she sounds much more sensible than Lovely One. What a cheek! I am the model of common sense and restrained behaviour. Well maybe not 'common' sense, maybe stylish, uncommon sense. Yes, that sounds much better.
NS&I Castle will do very nicely for Moi, and Boy, who is warming to the idea of Plymouth. Previous incumbant had rather uninspiring taste, so have mentally gutted and refurbished entire residence. Bloke is happy for this to go ahead as has completely fallen under spell of Lovely One. Fabulous light room shall be used as One's studio. In fact, completed masterpiece of Brixham harbour whilst in residence this weekend.
Vacated castle briefly in order to avoid ex-wife coming to borrow dog. Yes, he has a dog. Have always avoided furry pooh machines, and indeed, don't like sharing house with anything that can lick it's own bottom, but even 'dog thing' is rather sweet and not stinky at all! Shall have to re-home morbidly obese geriatric pussies though, since cannot imagine all being harmony there!
Back to visit from ex...
I booked a cab and headed off for the big city and all those lovely shops.
Bloke had said to me that he 'always leaves some food out for her'. How very odd, I thought, but maybe the poor darling has hit upon hard times? Not wishing to offend anyone as up and coming third wife I set about creating something special for the poor discarded waif.
I located a nest of edible doormice in the grounds and knocked up a doormouse wellington in no time at all. Scrambling down to a babbling brook I hand picked some wild rocket and washed it in the clear spring water. Gathering blackberries, yes they were named after my phone, what fun, into my Chloe tea dress skirt, I positively scampered back into the staff kitchen and laid out my goodies on tray with a lovely muslin cloth.
The cab driver who picked my up asked me,
'Where to, Darlin'?'
'Shopping, obviously', I replied. He shot me a quizzical glance in his rear view mirror and shook his blue collared head. I expect he was grateful that his Ford Cortina, or whatever it was, was carrying such a divine out of town creature as Lovely One, rather than the fat tummied, alchopop soaked Saturday night harridans who usually rested their Primark clutch bags on his shelf and farted into his puke stained upholstery.
Shock, horror, no Chanel to be had anywhere! Hardly any shopping to be done, so after about three hours I made my way back.
Upon my return Bloke enquired what I'd done, since wife no 2 had asked why there was a tray of, in her words, 'Pie and dandelion leaves', next to the dog lead in the staff kitchen.
'Well you said you leave food out for her', I indignantly replied.
'I LEAVE FOOD OUT FOR THE DOG, DARLING, YOU IDIOT', he laughed.
Oh dear, once again, Lovely little kind hearted One, gets hold of the wrong end of the stick!