Thursday 30 April 2015

Why don't I ever learn...

....that buying clothes online is a BAD IDEA?

In mitigation, there's now a dearth of shops in Devizes, as more and more close down in favour of the three Cs: coffee, charity and cards. We have scores of them. But if I can't find the right clothes, and am too lazy to drive far, I shop on line.

A friend of my daughter has a mantra: "never buy anything unless you love it, as if you don't love it when you buy it, you will never love it". How true. My very outdated wardrobe is full of things I don't love, and many of them are there because I bought them online and was too idle to return them, hoping that love would blossom. It didn't.

But at least I'm now getting better at returning things I don't love. I seems to spend my time parceling up unloved new clothes and traipsing into town to the "drop off" point or the post office. So far this spring, there have been a couple of pairs of sandals, a skirt, a top, and I forget what else.

                           such a
                                              broing post
                                                                      that I'm sending myself to



Sunday 26 April 2015

Magpie 267

I wandered (oh, am I allowed
To copy Wordsworth once again?)
When suddenly, I saw a cloud -
No wait! It's coming from a train!
Born by an aqueduct on high
It's  smoke pollutes both land and sky.
No wonder, as I roam these hills,
I can't find any daffodils.

(With thank to Tess at Magpie Tales for the picture)

Monday 20 April 2015

The Dancer (a true story)

Alone, she danced on the lawn by moonlight. The dew-wet grass was cool beneath her bare feet, and the slight breeze, welcome on such a hot summer night, caressed her bare arms, which still showed the marks of bruising.

But there would be no more bruises; no more beatings, no more fear. There would no repeats  of the shameful, humiliating nightly  assaults;  the whispered threats of what would happen if "their" little secret should ever be revealed.  For he was dead. Dead, dead, dead! Her heart sang with happiness as she twirled between the flower beds, drinking in the night-scent of roses and stocks. How she had longed for this moment; dreamed of dancing, unmolested, in the moonlit garden; of dancing to celebrate her freedom and happiness.

The neighbouring houses were shuttered and sleeping. Nobody would see her dancing, and if they did, they would never believe it was her.

For widows don't  dance, do they?

Friday 17 April 2015

I am lusting after...

...denim dungarees. I just love them. Years ago, just after the birth of my second child, I bought my first pair, and I had at least one other (the boiler suit was another matter. A terrible mistake, best forgotten). Dungarees are cool and comfortable, they don't have a waist so I don't have to have one either, and they look great with checked shirts.

So I told my daughter, who is beautiful, and fashion conscious, and my style guru (I have no style but I do have my guru). Her response was pretty well unprintable, but she did say that she wouldn't  be seen dead in my company if I wore dungarees. She also mentioned a piece of straw in the mouth as an accessory, which was silly, wasn't it? My granddaughter, on the other hand, said that dungarees are in at the moment (really?), and "go for it, Granny". Lovely child, Phoebe. I always said so.

That's all, really. I'm off to Google cheap dungarees.

Monday 13 April 2015

Bewildered of Devizes

To me, a gigabyte sounds just
Like something that you eat.
A cookie is a biscuit, and
A ram, a kind of sheep.

And widgets? What the hell are those?
My mum served spam for tea.
Software's not really soft at all,
And what's an ISP?

Computer-speak is great for those
Who find these things amusing.
But as for me, I merely find it
Terribly confusing.

Wednesday 8 April 2015

Nose news is...

..well, not too bad, on the whole.

But my operation (remember the Nose Operation? The nasty one last Novemeber? Surely you can't have forgotten already?) has left me with asymmetrical nostrils.

Now, I realise  that isn't really such a big deal, but for a while, it really bothered me. I know faces aren't symmetrical (if you're not sure about this, look at the mirror  reflection of someone you know well. It will look odd, because you're used to their right-way-round asymmetry). I'm getting used to it (after all, I don't have to look at it, do I?), but it has made me nose-aware (a condition where you focus on  people's noses, searching anxiously for those that have one nostril bigger/higher/uglier than the other). I've found that  very few people seem to have a matching pair of  nostrils, and I find that comforting.

What about you? How are you, in the equal nostril department?

PS the above is not my nose. It's younger and browner than mine. But it has a mind of lopsidedness which makes me feel quite fond of it.

Wednesday 1 April 2015

A proper horse post, specially for ER

This is Fairy (real name Fairfax) begging for titbits. It's his "pretty please" face, and it works every time.He has a most engaging ways of tilting his head out and sideways (I didn't quite manage to catch that; this is the best I could manage this morning, with Annie holding out the goodies off camera) He likes to think he's a kind of zoo animal, and  that everyone has come to see him with their pockets  full of food. A kind of one-horse pets' corner.

Fairy will eat anything. His latest favourite was a piece of chocolate brownie someone had brought for the humans. But of course, he had to try it, and then nearly knocked me over searching for the rest (I'd eaten it). He was on a sugar high for the next half hour. He's also partial to Maltesers.

What else? He's greedy (of course) and kind, and everyone loves him. He's dreadfully spoilt because few can resist his pleas, so I've given up trying to be firm. I love him, despite his quite appalling behaviour this morning, on what was supposed to be a quiet, convalsescent hack (he's been lame).

He says he might make another appearance, if we're lucky. We shall see. He doesn't say as much as Titch used to. He says he doesn't need to, and that he prefers to use  body language. Himm.