Google+ Followers

Follow by Email

Wednesday, 30 September 2009

In which I put fairy lights round my Twinkle...

What is it they say, 'sharper than a serpent's tooth, the ungrateful child'. Boy is discontent with his lot. Lovely poor old worn out One has worked herself to a premature old age in the pursuit of a better life for Boy, yet he languishes in bed seemingly unable to summon up the enthusiasm for life. I worry for him. He is the son of Vile Husband, so what do I expect I hear you groan.
Well, Boy and Vile Husband are about to find out exactly what Lovely Moi has done for them over the years as I am preparing to shear to Deepest within the month. Yes, darling readers, the dithering of Lovely One is at an end, I accept that lovely Bloke is my destiny and I'm off. There is, of course, the little matter of gainful employment to consider, and consider it I have. Currently languishing in my sickbed suffering from overwork, a new hairstyle, and stress, I have decided that the world can no longer function without divine Moi working full time as a proper painter. I have a gallery interested in my work in Deepest and it was the first one I went in! So that looks promising. I have knocked off a number of masterpieces lately, having been in a particularly emotional state.
Yesterday I crumbled under the pressure of Lovely D and BF egging me on to change my hairstyle. I have gone from long and sleek to layered and curly. Not quite sure about it, but had made a start before the restyle by managing to yank out several yards of blonde locks with my hair straighteners, so the change was inevitable.
I wonder what Bloke will say?
In order to draw his attention elsewhere I plan to enter NS&I Towers wearing just my fluffy and throw it open to reveal my Twinkle bedecked with fairy lights.
Oooh all his Christmases will have come at once. Rearrange those words however you see fit darling readers.
Off back to bed with some strawberries. Nighty Night.xx

Wednesday, 23 September 2009

In which I am a cowardy custard...

Well dear reader, I am in a quandry. What do I do? I could float off in a cloud of Chanel to Deepest, or I could stay here a little longer. Staying would mean I have to tend to the needy for three nights per week. Going would mean trying to make it as a full time painter with delicious Bloke.
What to do? I am a cowardy custard at the best of times. Do I let the flat? Do I sell it? I think Bloke thinks Lovely Moi has gone stark staring bonkers because dear little me keeps changing my plans every five minutes.
Bloke says 'we've got to get it right this time'. and he's right about that.
I had a successful exhibition and got 'real' money for some of my paintings. It is just so scary though, the thought of actually being an 'artist'. I know I'm good enough now, so what's the problem? You may well ask darlings. Me, moi, Lovely One is the problem. Afraid to do it. Afraid not to do it. What if I fail? Where will I go? Who will scoop me up and save me? No one.
What do you think dear reader?

Sunday, 20 September 2009

In which I smoke my last fag...

It's the last day of the Festival, darling readers. Outside it's completely still and the sun is shining over Rice Towers. Just as well it's quiet because there's a grumpy old bear asleep in my boudoir who hates to be disturbed. I ushered the morbidly obese pussies out to the veranda for their morning feast of quails eggs and asses milk and them placed them on their matching velvet cushions in the centre of the lawn.
It would appear that Big has alighted in his Mill House in deepest. I wondered where he'd gone. I expect he's been chasing scantily clad, outrageously too young women all around Portugal. Such is the privelidge of the old and wealthy male. I wonder if any of them let him catch them?

I really muat sell some paintings today. Everyone has been making the right noises and telling Lovely One what a genius she is but not many of the stingy blighters are dusting off their pocket money purses. Much interest in 'South Street Dusk', incidentally the one that Big wanted to buy. 'Brixham Dusk' has had many admirers too. Please don't think, dear reader, that I have some romantic association to dusk, it's just that I'm so utterly penniless that I only have blues and purples left so everything is currently portrayed at dusk.
I have had some commissions. A couple of stately residences and a picture of Bridgwater, so that should pay for some of Boy's college stuff.
I, however, in a moment of madness chucked in my appalling day job and now have to work WAKING NIGHTS. Can you imagine, Lovely Moi losing all her beauty sleep in the pursuit of the needy and bonkers? No, me neither. Not that I need beauty sleep, but all the same, I am in a right pickle, up the creek without a paddle once again darlings.
I wish I had the courage to throw my hands in the air and shout 'I HAVE HAD ENOUGH' and paint all day long. But that might mean Vile Husband would have to compromise his principles and get a job in order to support Boy and that would never do would it darlings?
Today Lovely Moi smokes her last fag. I shall have some sort of ceremony outside my exhibition, which is in the North Street Garage Gallery, Wiveliscombe, if you want to come. I shall smoke it, neck a vodka, have a lovely big cough and disappear to my easel in a cloud of Chanel.
Catch me if you can...

Friday, 18 September 2009

In which I let you into my private morning heaven...

I watched him in the half light this morning. That man I've grown to love more than anyone else in the world. I could make out his shape in the shadows going about his morning routine. His slow methodical movement about the room, not needing light to find everything he needed to begin his day. He is a big man in every sense. His strong body silhouetted against the breaking light of day is all I ever want to see when I open my eyes every day for the rest of my life. I can't imagine a single day without him there. I expect he knew I was watching him because he knows the pattern of my breathing and would instinctively know I wasn't sleeping. He is beautiful. He leant to kiss me as he was leaving and I touched his face so that I had the scent of him on me as I went back to sleep. I always move into the place he has been sleeping and lie with my head on his pillow. I know I tell him that I love him too much, but I do! He loved me first, and I suspect he is used to be the one who loves more.
We both had things to do - he in his daily work and me in the radio studio and then on to the art gallery. I, with my reckless spirit, would just put my life in the car and alight on his doorstep forever more, not thinking of any consequence, but he, with a sensible thought for the future, wants to 'get it right this time'. I know he is right, but all the same I just want it NOW!
I have spent almost twenty years without emotion and now I have it I want it every day. I am childish in my need for reassurance, I know I am, and my insecurity must be boring and annoying, but I hereby excuse myself for love.
I had a whole day with nothing to do yesterday and set about a bit of housework in his house. I love housework! I cleaned and scrubbed the dressing table under the window in the bedroom and in doing so found a mountain of cards that he'd sent his wife number two and she'd sent him. I so wanted to look at them, but did't. Never the less it was like wandering through someone else's life, like a living history museum. It's all in the past and I want it to go away. I am the future for him. I know he loves me and that is the most warm and soft feeling. And I love him, more than I could ever tell him and more than he will ever know.
and now on to lighter moments in the day...
I intereviewed a fellow painter today for 10radio, the comfy little M. It got rather hot in the studio and I took off my coat and scarf. For a moment I couldn't figure out what was poking out of my t shirt and then, horror of horrors darling reader, I twigged it was the underwiring from my bra! I tried to shove it back in in a swift movemet, but alas, no joy. So I've been wearing it as a head band. My dub dubs are quite obviously the same size as my head! But sadly one of them is nearer my twinkle than the other!
My twinkle is positively radiant!

Sunday, 13 September 2009

In which it is my birthday...

Well, good morning darling readers, it's the actual birthday of Lovely One today. Obviously I have an official one as well, during which my adoring public are permitted to shower me with gifts. I do allow some of them to even touch the person of Lovely One, but only following a quick going over with the antiseptic handwash BF has thoughtfully put next to the till in the gallery.
BF thoughtfully went right over the top in the organisation of everything, to the extent that she managed to end up hospitalised thorough stress. The BPT and Lovely Moi are feeling guilty because we just fronted up, chucked our exhibits in, necked a few and legged it. 'Buy it, don't buy it' that's my attitude. I only do it for a giggle and we certainly have a few of those. Anyway, I've bucked my ideas up and intend to stay in dear old Wivey throughout, instead of shearing to Deepest for the week to be locked in the embrace of a great big bear. Still, darling readers, one's twinkle mink sees plenty of activity these days and shall shortly have to be retired to the Home for Elderly Twinkles in Devon where the forgotten and discarded Twinkle Minks roam free range all day over the rolling hills until they nestle down to slumber in their Tena Lady sleeping bags.
Champers and nibbles in the gallery today for Lovely Moi. Do come bearing expensive gifts!
I'm off now to wake up the lovely big furry bear that's asleep in my satin sheets. I wonder what he's got for me this lovely morning. My Twinkle's trembling with anticipation even as I blog...
Ooh, I almost forgot, I had a whim for a honeydew Melon whilst manning the gallery yesterday, and the divine Bloke actually found one for Lovely Moi in the middle of sleepy little Wivey on a Sunday afternoon. What utter devotion, darlings, but then you'd expect nothing less would you?

Saturday, 12 September 2009

In which I Bloke is allowed to take me from my adoring public...


An absolutely divine day darlings. The weather, the crowds, the artists, and of course, Darling Bloke, who was met with approval from Lovely One's adoring public. Sales were good and everyone sold or was commissioned.
The PHT was allowed out on her own and came back wearing a pair of shoes last worn by Lily Savage when he dressed as Dorothy. By mid afternoon she clicked her heels and wasn't in Kansas anymore but in the Bear garden necking enough Thatchers Gold to re-float the Cutty Sark.
Bloke was positively saintly, and adored Lovely One visibly, just enough to gain the mass approval of the Wivey public. He was interrogated regarding his suitability to cherish Lovely One until the end of time and aquitted himself with style.
BF was the clear leader, sales wise, and obviously Lovely Moi congratulated her through gritted teeth. To celebrate she kept disappearing down the back passage clutching her inferior 'other materials' Primark 'shopper' and her location could only be vaugely pinpointed by the clouds of smoke emanating from behind a skip.
Went to Bear in evening with little M to meet PHT and her adoring hubbster. Don't quite know how we did it but completely missed one another. Still, necked a few and mosied home to get poked in the ribs all night for snoring. AS IF!

Friday, 11 September 2009

In which I shall miss lovely old Wivey...

Gladys and her pips got it right... 'I'd rather live in his world, than live without him in mine'. Lovely Moi may not be 'Leaving on a Midnight train to Georgia', but she'll be shearing to Plymouth rather promptly. But, my darling readers, IT IS GOING TO BE REALLY HARD to leave Wivey and all my lovely friends and admirers.
Spent yesterday with the Pink Haired Trollop and BF along with posh C setting up at the gallery.
Note:
BF - You may have sold a book
BUT
Lovely One - HAS SOLD TWO ORIGINAL PAINTINGS ALREADY AND AM THEREBY THE BEST!!!!!!!
Much interest from the great unwashed of West Somerset. Ruddy faced farmer types with their strawberry noses pushed up against the windows soaking up the culture through their Hunters.
Nipped into the radio studio to address my adoring public just to ensure that there's no one out there who isn't fully aware that divine Moi has knocked off a few new masterpieces. Of course there'll be posh C's exquisite flower paintings and cards, BF's unbelievable textile creations, and boy are there a lot of them! She must have been out in that shed day and night for bloody ages! The great big old Pink haired trollop has been sitting there felting for months on end looking like some old gyppo enchantress sat outside the junior school needle felting voodoo dolls. Only in Wivey. Anywhere else she'd be a 'care in the community' case!
We have a new exhibitor in the shape of A, who has squillions of silk scarves all hand painted in fabulous colours and as light as a whisper.
Darling P was f*****g incandescent, because some horrible old woman had phoned the council to complain about our festival banners, so the highways men had come out and taken the lot down! What a mean thing to do! It's fun, it brings visitors to our sleepy little heavenly town, and provides a little invisible income to the likes of the desperately poor, see: Pink Haired Trollop and Lovely One.
We did repair to the pub a couple of times throughout the day since BF was getting a little stressy and red faced with her glasses sliding down her perspiring nose. Obviously, Lovely One remained serene and only had to nip out for a couple of fags and Solpadeine once or twice.
In a few hours Bloke will be here to see me in my natural habitat and meet my adoring public. He will see exactly what I'm giving up for him.
I love it here, but I love him more.

Tuesday, 1 September 2009

In which I return to you darlings...

I am getting really nervous! I have chucked in day job with no means of self support, abandoned Boy to the tender mercies of Vile Husband, am looking to re-home morbidly obese pussies and am selling Rice Towers!
I am absolutely certain about darling, darling Bloke, darlings, so why am I getting scared? Lovely One has fulfilled her duties to Boy. Some say that is never over, but I have given Boy the opportunity to sashay off to deepest with moi and he had opted to bunk in with Vile. As I've said afore, I give that two weeks at the most. For a start every time I go away for the weekend I have to leave enough food for both of them so heaven knows how they'll fare when left to their own devices.
Darling Bloke is the very model of perfect husband material. He cooks for me and just generally looks after me. He is considerate, affectionate and all round wonderful. I'm just so used to doing everything on my own that I find it quite alien to ask for help or even accept it when it's offered.

This has been in draft form for a couple of weeks and my my how things change...

Vile old hell hags at Rice Towers have made lovely One's divine existence pure misery over the prospect of one letting her abode to a, wait for it darlings, YOUNG PERSON. 'We don't want YOUNG PEOPLE in the Malthouse', they bleat. 'They'll be walking around the garden eating pizza and smoking'.
Heaven forfend, I hear you cry, fags and pizza, whatever next, eating babies and shagging kittens?
Anyhow the upshot of it all is that I shall have to remain here until the flat is sold and then point the Pontiac toward deepest and darling darling bloke for a life of middle aged holding hands and sighing. Well, eating chips, ice cream and giggling actually which is what we did last time.
Bloke has the utter temerity to be as funny as Lovely Moi! Now, dear reader, I DO THE JOKES, doesn't he know that?
Since I am always droning on about how fit I am the little dear took me to Kingsbridge and parked about as far away from the river as you could get without entering the next county! Not only that but the way ahead was up the steepest steps ever built in the history of step building. Now, those unlucky ones of you out there who haven't had the utter pleasure and joy of seeing Lovely One in the flesh won't know that she has little short legs and therefore the climbing of said steps was rather like sodding Ranulph Feinnes scaling the North Face of whatever mountain he's currently sauntering up.
Then when at the top a veritable cliff face to hurtle down to the town. Then, and I couldn't believe it, Bloke steered me toward a muddy hole with some boats stranded in it and told me the river had gone out! Gone out! So after a luke warm over priced cup of coffee we donned our crampons and scaled the high street. The very steep steps in reverse were even more difficult for Lovely One's little fat legs to climb down. Cruelly, darling Bloke was laughing his head off and set Moi off into one of her giggling fits.
One's pelvic floor is more like a basement now and sadly I'd left my Lulu Guiness changing bag in the back of the Bentley.
White jeans, middle age, giggling, no Tena Lady pants...
WE WENT HOME