Stupid is as stupid does

The other morning I woke up earlier than usual. I woke myself up by talking in my sleep. This is what I said: "I may be stupid but I'm not retarded!".

Nice one.

Black Cats and Sunsets

I promise I'm not a mad cat woman. There are not thousands of cans of opened cat food in my kitchen through which I wade several times a day in order to reach the sink. But I felt guilty that there was no photo of Wolfie on the site. So, ta-da! Here he is.

There aren't many good photos of Wolfie. Being black he tends to look like an amorphous black hole with glowing "I can look into your soul" eyes. So this photo, not his coolest by any stretch, will have to suffice.

I have felt like death warmed up for the last five days... bed ridden and miserable. Waking up in the wee hours covered in a clammy layer of my own fair sweat. Perspiration just doesn't cut it. I'm talking sweat. Lots of it. Mmmmm. No amount of pre-bed deodorant/antiperspirant application helps (apply liberally all over body - don't forget soles of feet).

The only salient answer comes in the form of trusty pink flannellette jarmies, faded and worn with white sheep on them. Flannellette is a charming, multi-purpose fabric, ideal for soaking up sweat. It's a bit like wearing a chamois. Why bother going to all the trouble of changing the sheets at 3am when you can reach for the tried and tested absorption miracle of flannellette jimjams? And when you get up, cold and damp in the morning, you just chuck 'em in the dirty washing basket to be washed and ready for the next night.

Unless you forget to wash them and have to dig around in the dirty laundry basket in the middle of the night, only to find your slightly stiff, still damp pyjamas under your smelly socks and damp towell in the middle of the night. And you put them on anyway. But no one needs to know you did that. Unless you write about it in your blog.

Anyway, onto less scary subject matters. Here is a photo of a sunset I took in Portugal last week. Actually, I just looked at it and it's not that good. Here's a photo looking down from the Greek Island of Santorini instead. Ahhhh....

I hate winter. It's not really even here yet, and what we've had hasn't even been bad, but I'm over it and want to bask in the sun again. I want to get back to work making my skin nice and leathery by the time I'm 50. A nice classy tan, liver spots, saggy boobs, wrinkly decolletage and at least three gold chains. Homage to a life time of sun worshipping. Tasty.

Well, due to Weird Flatmate arriving home and sucking all inspiration and creativity out of the local atmosphere I must bid adieu. Plus if I don't go to the toilet now before he gets in there and locks the door (even though I don't need to go) I won't have access to it for the next hour. Yuck.
x

Photos

Ice Queen

I'm not a callous person; slightly cynical but I do have oodles of compassion. But when my gut instinct yells "scammer!" my eyes narrow and suddenly I transmogrify into the Ice Queen of Narnia.

So I am ever so pleased I stumbled upon the following blog earlier today: http://wanderingego.blogspot.com/. Does anyone remember the sensationalist appearance of 'Wanderingscribe' earlier this year? The poor dear was homeless, living in her car down an anonymous 'laneway' somewhere on the outskirts of London.

Her blog was a self-indulgent stream of pity-seeking and sympathy mongering. I had to skim through a lot of it as I got bored hearing about the pain in her 5th vertebra, the unsufferable cold, and the rationed-out packet of digestive biscuits she kept safely stowed under the passenger seat.

Then, lo and behold she tells her bleeding heart club of dedicated blog watchers that Harper Collins have signed her up for a book deal! Wow - amazing luck!

I just didn't buy it. Not the book (it's not out yet) but the story.

Anyway, it's a great laugh reading the aforementioned blog that points out all the discrepancies in Anya's blog and subsequent book deal. Great work - keep it up.

Other than that, I'm enjoying a Sunday night in, the heating raging at maximum, little Louis stretched out beneath the radiator and Wolfie lounging like the lord he is on the bed downstairs. I really must buy Wolfie a red velvet smoking jacket and a packet of cohibas. He is the kind of sleek black cat that really cannot be fully appreciated without a balloon of cognac (Courvoisier XO will do nicely, or Hennessey) in his gloved, manicured paw. I really should go back downstairs and continue reading him Edgar Allan Poe poetry, his current favourite owing to it's total sombreness.

Louis on the other hand is the kind of cat that I have decided would only drink Bacardi Breezers. Pineapple flavoured, probably served in a wine glass with ice and a gaudi cocktail umbrella. Oh and a pink curly straw. Class is lost on the dear wee soul.

And further to the comment asking whether I was a princess, I think Queen is a far more accurate title. Queen of Everything.
x

Little Louis Robinson

"Patience comes to those who wait..."

That was what I said.

I find it so frustrating when I say something that sprang into my brain in a moment of mirthful clarity and although the recipient thinks it's hilarious they also think I was having a blonde moment. This is doubly frustrating because I'm brunette.

This rather brilliant and, as I thought, profound quip came to me whilst four deep at an Islington bar. Since I was sardined at the bar waiting to order drinks for all and sundry I was not able to defend myself when the recipient regailed the group with my "funny 'cos it's so dumb" comment.

Oh well, I know the truth. At the time I was on such a roll I even chucked in a Stephen Wright favourite: "When I think about the past it brings up so many memories", but even that didn't seem to get through.

Perhaps this is merely the case of the Brunette Who Cried Blonde.

There was the legendary time when I started enthusing about a certain 'myth'. Did it really exist? Could it be the Greek Island of Santorini as many historians suggested? I really was fascinated with this Lost City of Atlanta........ (apparently not as lost as previously thought, there have been some random sightings by people in the USA).

And the time on the London Eye when I stunned all and sundry by commanding the 'pod' and pointing out the exact location of the "M 15" building (I had the skyline map). Well am I to blame for thinking the 'l' looked like a '1'? Of course I knew about MI5 but excitement reigned and urgency prevailed and there was no time. There was naturally lots of time to think about my faux pas on the seemingly endless semi-circle back to the platform. And for some reason it got really hot in there, I should've complained about the climate control.

Short of words for once...

It doesn't happen very often (being short for words that is) but now that I've set this up I feel like I am standing in the middle of a big stage with the spotlight firmly planted on me. Not that I can even imagine anyone reading this for a start, but it does feel rather funny writing something in a blog.

I guess my first mission will be to do something interesting. That way I can write about it! Well, I am about to venture down to Sainsbury's to buy some salad ingredients for lunch, who knows what kind of trouble could befall me?!

Watch this space...