shiny blogging nonsense

Last Thursday evening I left work about ten or fifteen minutes later than my usual shiny-shaped hole in the door at 17:01. As I was walking close to home, I saw a little old lady walking towards me.  I have a thing about smiling, nodding or saying hello to older people. They come from a better time when that’s what people did, and I always remember when I was in school hearing a story about a woman who would get the bus every day and sit on a bench in the shopping centre in the hope that someone would talk to her. So I smiled and she looked up at me, then stopped me to ask directions. We were further along the road than she was looking for, but when I pointed the way nothing registered on her face. I quickly realised. She said she’d been walking for a long time, maybe for four miles, she liked to walk.  I asked if she knew her address, and like it was a test she shot out the right answer. I told her I would look it up, and thanked technology for smart phones.

Buffalo mozzarella is made from buffalo milk, and is not just big mozzarella. Buffaloes come in male and female. The plural of buffalo is buffaloes. Nuns are not entitled to free travel, unless they are over 66, which they often are. On a similar theme, Junior Minister doesn't necessarily mean young. When your pregnant friend texts you from her hospital appointment saying 'head down, bum in the air' she means the baby.

I am glad of that. I like  piña coladas  and getting caught in the rain. I like sitting  on my own, outside a Paris café, watching people go by. I like to ride on Jack Yeats’ horse, running blurry and colourful. I like the peace and quiet of it. I like sitting on the couch, in my hundred-year-old tracksuit bottoms, reading a book or talking for hours about everything and nothing, or even watching an episode, for months on end. I like cooking, with real food, after hours thinking, wandering and choosing. I like walking for the walk. I like side streets and back streets. So many things. I don’t know what a Snooki is. I don't play tennis or golf. I don’t drink, or swear, I don’t rat my hair. Sandra Dee I am not, but don’t judge me by your standards, because they are certainly not mine. I have imagination, I cherish it, I nurture it, I feed it with wild stories of talking snails. I don’t want to grow up too far. I like to dream. I like to write. I like to watch the sta

I don’t like shopping. There, I said it, shun me at will! I mean clothes shopping, I could grocery shop for days on end, I’m strange that way. I’ve never liked it, regardless of my age or size, and I’ve been a lot of ages and most sizes. Maybe it started with my mother, who loves to shop and bought me endless items of red clothing. Her favourite colour, but I’m part-ginger so it didn’t really work for me. Don’t get me wrong, I love fashion, I just don’t follow it. I have a style, I suppose, but I’m not stylish. Like anyone I have favourite colours, shapes and what not. I generally prefer winter clothes to summer clothes, for example. I’m not even a big fan of sunglasses, never mind the rest! I love wool, and the term what not. The thing about it is too, even if you’re a size twelve it doesn’t mean your clothes will be, and I don’t just mean when you’re fooling yourself that you’re a size twelve! You might need a size 16 in one top, then jump for joy when you need a size 10 in

How himself and myself are getting on living together. Very well, thanks for asking. It's so easy, despite my tendencies towards Obsessive Compulsive Disorder and the fact that we had both lived alone for years, which makes you odd! We've settled into a routine, despite conflicting work schedules. We have a nice home. What can I say, I'm happy! How I am now friends with my mother and father on Facebook. A sign of being a grown up at last, with nothing to hide. They know who I am now, and there was never really anything to hide in the first place. They truly are my friends now, not just my parents, givers of tenners. How I have neither time, nor inspiration, nor discipline to blog. I'm working on that, and I'm working on something new. How I'm battling between my love of food and my love of fitting in my clothes. I've lost a whopping 1.5lbs in the last two weeks. No, I've lost 1.5lbs in the last couple of weeks! It may

Things I haven't blogged about in the last two months: How himself and myself are getting on living together. How I am now friends with my mother and father on Facebook. How I have neither time, nor inspiration, nor discipline to blog. How I'm battling between my love of food and my love of fitting in my clothes. How I'm battling to get through the working day without crawling under my desk. How living my life by a spreadsheet is making my head go a little bit kaboom. How I am not making time for myself, despite all around me telling me to. How I plan to change at least some of the above things. How I went to work today wearing a top that smelled of roast beef.

The phone rings, I answer 'hello', turning off the vacuum cleaner. 'what are you up to?' 'hoovering' 'how was dinner last night?' 'good, really good' 'what'd you get up today?' 'nothing much, took it easy, did the housework, you?' 'the same, and watched the rugby' 'I didn't watch the rugby' *stunned silence* 'I'm not that into the rugby' 'so what did you do today?' 'housework! grocery shopping, laundry, hoovering..!' 'you'd never be done' 'how long does it take to cook a chicken, an hour and a half?' 'no, two hours' 'I thought last time you said an hour and a half..? an hour covered and a half an hour uncovered?' 'I never said anything about covered and uncovered! two hours at 200!' '200? mine's a fan oven?' 'so is mine, put it on for an hour covered with tin foil, then take off the tin foil for the l