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Saturday, 26 December 2009

In which I am spoiled with Chanel delights...

'Bon Noel' to all you darling readers. Unable to send seasonal greetings before now as hand eye coordination a little questionable. That, coupled with knee injury and Bloke having the worst head cold ever experienced by man rendered NS&I castle a veritable infirmary.
Tilly, our scullery maid, laid the fires, put quails eggs on to lightly boil and brought us a pot of coffee before being given a small gratuity by Lovely Moi and sent on her way to enjoy the festivities with her vast, unwashed, blue collar family somewhere on the 'other side of the tracks'
One is sorry to report a further injury sustained to the knee following yet another fall. Both dear little knees now so severely swollen and bruised another visit to the doctor had to be endured.
'You should consider lowering your centre of gravity' said the obnoxious little medical bastard.
'For your iformation, mate' Lovely One replied through gritted teeth, 'I've lowered my centre of gravity to the tune of six bleedin' stone'
'Oh. I'll shut up then shall I?' continued medical man.
'Yes' says I lugging my skinnies over my gargantuan arse and atempting to look as fierce as one can whilst wearing a short fleece and musical Christmas socks.
Anyway, the upshot of the falling over means that the elderly of this parish will have to be without the ministrations of Lovely Moi until at least the middle of January.
Although, I shall need to reign in my feeding habits which have indeed spiralled out of control over the festive season, or I shan't be able to do up my 'One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest' white uniform.
Consumption excesses have not gone unnoticed by Bloke who when asked'
'What shall I take for a snack whilst we walk Stinky?'
replied
'A suckling pig, my love, or perchance a side of ham?'
Well, that's it! Back to SW now the feasting season is over.
I expect you're all wondering what delights Lovely One has been gifted this Christmas. Well, Bloke and even Boy excelled themselves with divine Chanel items and sparkly things to die for. Even aged P's proffered Chanel this year spoiling Lovely Moi very much indeed.
BF, however, has clearly gone gaga. Opening her gifts I was thrilled with a beatiful fabric work of art depicting Florence or Venice or some such dreamy place and I framed it immediately and hung it in the long gallery. As usual with BF, there were multiple delights.
Picture - fantastic, wonderful, love it.
Glamorous black sequinned gloves - fab, lovely, love 'em.
Box of tea bags - very strange, weird, can only imagine there's a similar sized box of something lovely and smelly nestling in BF's kitchen cupboard somewhere to be discovered when BFP nips out to make a cup of tea.
And the veritable piece de resistance - an item given to me with the message, 'I hope you still like this' - a blue and white candlestick that I had been missing since vacating Rice Towers and moving into NS&I Castle.
OF COURSE I LIKE IT. IT'S MINE.
Clearly with the absence of Lovely One to organise BF et al with a place to sell their wares and make some moolah, BF has taken to stealing people's prize possessions from them and then giving them back as Christmas gifts.
She's gone over the edge since I left Wivey. I must return forthwith with vodka and fags.

Saturday, 19 December 2009

In which I have a very moist entrance...

Let it snow, Let it snow, let it snow...
And it did, darling readers, it did! The little burger van had a festive sprinkling of white to welcome in the Christmas season. Sadly, Bloke is a bit 'Bah Humbug' about such things and absolutely forbade any form of decoration Lovely One sugested. One was even forbidden to wear one's lovely fairy wings and halo! Apparently they are against 'elf n safety' regulations, as is anything I suggest actually!
Rather a profitable day was had feeding the great unwashed of deepest. An odd lot they are too!
As I informed you all just the other blog, BF and Lovely Moi are shadows of our former selves. In fact Lovely Moi is now reclaiming all the fabulous designer wear that had been passed down to BF when it became too small. The Pink One has to be completely bypassed in these transactions now as she is too vast for any of our castoffs currently.
And there I was feeling smug about the weight loss equivalent of a small child when my little world was shattered by the insinuation of Bloke that I am still the size of a small ugly crowd!...
It all began last week when a dripping sound became more and more audible from the grand reception hall, which just happens to be underneath Lovely One's private marble bathroom suite. In fact, my claw footed genuine Victorian, super deep bath sits directly over the main entrance to NS&I Towers and affords a splendid view of the magnificent driveway in order that One can vet any callers whilst reclining in Jo Malone splendour and have any unwanted callers dispatched by the butler via instructions over the in house comms.
Water positively cascaded down the granite walls and through the splendid Lutyens ceilings. In fact One's wellies were almost full by the time we investigated. Being unable to find a 'little man' to remedy the situation at some ungodly hour One placed a large 17th century tupperware container under said leak and bogged off to bed. Lovely Moi had completely forgotten the domestic inident until Bloke raised the topic.
'Don't take umbrage' he began...
Now One knows that something is to follow which will indeed cause Dear Little Lovely Moi to indeed take umbrage, whatever the devil that is!
'But couldn't it be that a bath full of water with you in it is enough to dislodge a waste pipe from underneath the bath?'
I tell you dear reader, he broached this subject whilst being in a confined space with Moi! Ordinarily One would have launched Oneself, Miss Piggy style, at the bastard and given him a chinese burn on the willy, but One was simply too too shocked.
Clearly darlings I have not seen the last of the Fat Club! There's me thinking I'm looking rather magnificent for an old girl in me leggings, Uggs and Fastnet Big Wide (Do google fastnet outfits, dear readers, you won't regret it) and all the time I obviously still look like a Biffer!
Bloke attempted to weasel out of it with all manner of excuses involving intricate graphs and lectures involving physics, but, NO, NO, if Darling One is still vast enough to resemble something that has the power to dislodge the internal plumbing methinks One should lay off the pies over the festive season.

Wednesday, 16 December 2009

In which I unearth a Festive Fir device...

All is ready for Christmas in NS&I towers in the depths of the forest. Stinky is doing her best dislodge my glamorous baubles with her tail every time she bounds past the tree after me into the scullery to investigate what our maid is preparing for supper. And what a tree...
Lovely Moi was utterly horrified when bloke informed me that he actually has an ARTIFICIAL CHRISTMAS TREE. Oh horror of horrors I thought, smiling bravely. I imagined one of those ghastly offensive items one's dear mama brings out every year, complete with glass Woolworth baubles circa 1955. But no, I need not have worried my dear little head. (It wasn't so much Bloke's taste that alarmed One, but Mrs Bloke mark two. A little 'cut price, pound shop, bargain basement' for Moi)The Festive device is an intricate work of engineering in the extreme!
I wrestled it down the draughty stairwell from the 'Christmas Room' - so there Aaron Spelling - and erected it in the ballroom. Collapsed, it looked fairly innocuous, but on inverting it's three sections, it hinged out to form the most reaslisic, utterly huge Christmassing Tree.
Obviously, Lovely One is rather more used to having One's Festive Fir dug up to order by a 'little man' in Norway. But, no matter, said hinged device will suffice nicely now it's decorated with One's exquisite baubles. Underneath are many, many 'man wrapped' gifts labelled for Lovely Moi. The boxes are small - oh goody!
Anyway, back to supper...
Last night it was home made mushroom soup as a first course.
Darling Bloke decided to sup his soup whilst wearing a bathrobe, and nothing else. Well, darling readers, who could bear to miss the last quarter of 'Goldenballs'? Well, Lovely One could actually, but - no matter.
And speaking of Goldenballs, I pass on to you all a little tip...
Well, dear reader, it's Bloke's tip actually...
DON'T EAT PIPING HOT SOUP WHILST ONE'S GOLDENBALLS ARE PEEKING OUT OF ONE'S BATHROBE.
The consequences could be dire! First degree burns on the gonads are a festering nuisance, as wearing open crotch trousers on the Burger Van is against Health and Safety guidelines - section 4 paragraph 2.
I have made the pilgrimage to see BF and lovely D to distribute tasteful gifts and offer seasonal greetings. Dear old Wivey was positively arctic! It no longer feels like home now I'm settled into the castle in deepest.
BF and Moi are shadows of our former selves! I feel we may allow ourselves to overindulge during the festive celebrations. Even if I indulge in the extreme I shall never fill out one of BF's enormous glamorous brassieres. I wore a delightful aqua blue lace one yesterday over the top of three layers, including a Monsoon woolly the devil made me buy yesterday.
I'm off to stock up on seasonal goodies now in anticipation of Boy arriving to inhale all food in the smeg...

Tuesday, 8 December 2009

In which I am Mortally Wounded...

Well darling reader, what a day! Lovely Moi is now fully conversant with how to attach plastic bags to the nether regions of the infirm and needy...
The aforementioned took place at the beginning of the week, which began with me not knowing how to attend to the needs of the incapacitated and elderly, but being in jolly fine fettle One's dear little self, and ended with aforementioned 'Dear Little Self' being fully acquainted with elders' requirements and incapacitated Oneself!
Have spent fantastically tiring week entombed in airless, windowless room being positively 'crammed' with all information it probably took Juliet Mills, in 'Nurse on Wheels' yonks to learn!
Google it dear reader, it's an ancient B&W.
'OH NO', I hear you collectively cry, 'Our Beloved Lovely One is injured!'
Sit down, dear reader, and resist the temptation to rush to my side. After all I have Bloke to attend to my every whim.
I shall take you through the entire event step by step...
We all sat in a 'horse shoe' pattern of desks and chairs surrounded by enormous amounts of paperwork and files, marked, exciting things like:
'Health and Safety at Work'. Which dear little Moi should have been given to read BEFORE entering the building!
There wasn't anywhere to deposit One's coat, bag etc., so everything got unceremoniously shoved under desk.
Divine morning of 'Colostomy bag info' passed without event until course leader nipped out for fag and Moi, choking for air in the way too hot and airless tomb, decided to get up from desk and open door to avoid asphixiation of remaining students.
Unfortunately, following a.m. of shuffling paperwork and fidgeting, One's fabulously expensive and business like handbag shoulder strap had become trapped around leg of chair and leg of desk, creating an extremely effective trip wire.
Your sharp intake of breath is very nigh audible to poor little injured One, darlings! Yes, you guessed it, One neatly hooked handle to ankle - moved off at speed - tautened strap between chair leg and desk and 'voila' crashed to the concrete floor landing on all fours!
Fabulous, sleek curly blonde mane remained salon-style intact and super-brain-filled head missed massive hoisting equipment by fractions of a squillimetre. (Fortunate indeed, or Lovely Moi would have been but a fragrant memory...)
Scraped Oneself off floor and regained composure...
Assembled students offered sympathy and assistance, but seemingly, Lovely One had come through hideous ordeal unscathed...
Following day - a bit swollen, well, OK, a lot swollen around the knees. Very tender to the touch, but seemingly nothing broken.
Following, following day, like NOW actually, in acute agony all over dainty little pale skinned self!
Knees like sodding Billy Bremner - google it - ancient footballer!
Nasty blackening bruises on legs, stiff as a stiff, arms unable to move above darling head, heels of hands tender as a tiny infant's head, neck crunching and creaking at every turn of perfectly shaped head, back sore and aching, and generally truamatised all flamin' over!
Shall be visiting nearby medical establishment on the morrow darlings! Simply out of the Q to be bending down, or Heaven forfend, actually KNEELING to attend to elderly needy types.
I implore you all, dear readers, not to dash to my side to offer aid and comfort. I have darling Bloke for all that.
On relaying of this sad and sorry tale to said Darling Bloke, he proffered...
'Blimey, I hope you didn't fall on anyone!'

note:
Although I do, indeed, like red roses. Yellow are my fave!

Friday, 4 December 2009

In which I get lost in Deepest...

Well, darling reader, my lovely stint as a pretend housewife is over. I am now, what used to be called, a 'home-help'.
Dear little old ladies in bungalows, the very occassional little old gentleman, need getting out of bed, washing and dressing, breakfast, lunch and tea, so hey presto! Lovely Moi!
Today I set off at some ungodly hour, while it was still dark, with my list of Multimapped instructions and meandered around the countryside occassionally catching glimpses of the sea but sadly not the place I was seeking.
I called into a garage, purchased a map, but still had to call my instructor and be guided in like some kind of pensioner seeking missile.
Many, many bungalows in Deepest Devon, housing many, many very old persons! The end of life looks like a miserable thing indeed.
Each little bungalow had a profusion of framed photographs on display charting the passage of each little life that dwindled away inside. As Lovely One was merely an observer today of the routine that I shall be following until I avail my dear little self of the facility, I had plenty of time to look around each lonely room I found myself in. Each one had black and white, studio posed, framed photographs of the occupants offspring. They all looked like Lovely Moi and Brother in acrylic fairisle turtleneck ski jumpers and sporting side parted freshly combed hair. Further along the shelves were wedding photographs of aforementioned offspring and yet further, grandchildren. Some babies, family gatherings and, as now seems quite ordinary, graduation pics. Only one, an old gentleman, had a black and white picture of himself as a young man gazing into the eyes of a young woman. None of the old ladies, who incidentally outnumber the men six to one, had their husbands present in any shape or form. In fact, all little old lady bungalows were bereft of any sign of testosterone, past or present. Can it be that they were glad to see the back of them?
Each neat little home was decorated in pastel shades with amatuer watercolour paintings on the walls and furnished with 1970's H plan sideboards etc. Whatever happened to the sideboard? A ghastly piece of furniture used to house glasses one never used and china that only came out at funerals.
Administering to the elderly looks rather more palatable than tending to the needy and bonkers. I think I'll be rather good at it!
I remember Big telling me that the difference between and 'old man' and an 'old gentelman' is - money. Well, we know he's got lots of it, perhaps I shall appear to cook his lunch one sunny day.
Tomorrow I am Burger Van Saturday Girl again. This time shall wear something warm and not have glamorous bra strap on display. After banning me from kissing and cuddling on 'the van' bloke snuck a snog when we had no customers last time, so I shall be taking him to an industrial tribunal if he so much as brushes past me tomorrow!
I don't care how much he lolls around on the four poster wearing just his shreddies and socks tonight, I shall resist him on the morrow in favour of bunging burgers down the neck of beefy truckdrivers - so there!