Border Disputes and Other Key Issues

Dahlings, I have had to write a stiff letter to Ines de la Fressange:

Dear Madame de la Fressange (can I call you Angie for short?)

Look here Angie!

We both know you have been style stalking me for years, copying my best looks and snatching my role as muse for old Karl L. from me....(Karl would have done much much better work if he had a mad old housewife as muse, his work with machine washable fabrics and go anywhere aprons and comfy shoes would have been Visionary).

See here's you wearing a stripey shirt under a pullover.

Well here's me.

Here's you rocking a Lacoste polo shirt.

Here's me doing the same look in my own way, using a body double.  See how you have even copied the multiple medallion look, Angie?

Angie, I have turned a blind eye to this sartorial theft but now you have gone too far:

Outrageous!  Copying my canine accessory! How dare you! Have you no shame? All I can say is, I hope he sheds hair on your slimline black capris and chews up your Roger Viviers.

Your sincerely

B Blighty

And then I had to write to old Kirstie Allsop

Dear Mrs Allsop

I read in the Daily Mail on-line that recently you have caused a mini furore by stating that girls should not go to university.  I suspect that superficially stoopid statement was actually a very clever way of getting publicity for your latest enterprise.

But what concerns me is this picture of you with a Border Terrier.  What are you thinking?  There you are, encouraging people to do up their homes and scatter cushions and curtains around with gay abandon while at the same time clutching what we now refer to in our house as a Mobile Shredder. Have you seen their teeth? Huge!  It is only a matter of time before old matey there chomps his way through a rug and a lovely throw embroidered by peasants in rural Gloucestershire, before setting to work on that flower arrangment.  You have been warned.

Yours sincerely

B Blighty

And then I had to write to this lady.

 

 

Dear Mrs Queen Beatrix

I now understand the real reason for your abdication.  They really are trouble aren't they?  Well done on managing to keep the Queen gig going so long while handling a Border Terror.  You were very wise though to hand over to your son so you could concentrate on Border Control issues. I like the way you look regal and serene in this photo while at the same time keeping a firm hold on the Terror. Out of interest, has he ever jumped in a canal before?

Yours etc

Well I was told a dog could be a lot of work but I had no idea it would involve so much correspondence.

What was I thinking?

What planet was I on when I bought this bread? (on-line)

It's dollshouse size, Nutella toast this morning took ages - had to do about 138 pieces per boy.

And why did I think Monty dog wanted to watch  breakfast TV?  Why did I put the TV on specially for him and leave him in front of Lorraine's Brazilian Bikini Diet special?  Dog very sensibly took himself off and ate a box of tissues instead.  To be honest, after watching 2 minutes of the Diet Special, I was ready to eat a box of Kleenex too.

Why did I order this? (on-line)

It's memory foam, my idea was to increase the comfort levels of Monty Dog's crate.

But somewhow I got enough to carpet the Albert Hall. 

What was I thinking??

And now the darn stuff won't "remember" how to get itself back in its bag, trust me to get memory foam with amnesia.

And finally, these tragic fashion jeans?  WHAT WAS I THINKING??? (on-line)

I blame all those fashion blogs but really, the clue is in the brand name - Forever 21 not Forever 50 almost 51.

I think I can rationalise all this epic sadness by pointing to my lack of prowess with numbers....

Bread 400g? nope, means nothing to me.

Memory foam  X metres x Y metres - no, not a clue

Forever 21 - refers to mental age surely?

Even the dog despairs of me. 

Monty Dog goes on minibreak and so does Boy 2

Last week Monty Dog went on a Luxury Minibreak in the heart of the Chilterns, near Tring.  We are going on hols in the summer and Monty can't come with, so he is going to stay at this very upmarket dog hotel.  Last week was his try out. Look at how lovely the room is where the dogs sleep and relax. I am not joking, there are day care nurseries for kids which are not as nicely appointed; I should know, I put Boys 1 and 2 in them when they were evil toddlers...

 Each dog gets his own individual bay to sleep in, there is a hose down area to freshen up after muddy walks and even CCTV to check on them at night.

 The countryside is lovely, this is the view from the garden.

The lady is just starting up her dog boarding business.  She is lovely, has her own dog Harvey and is an expert in dog training and behaviour.

Here are the details in case anyone is interested. 

I was relieved that the try out went ok and Monty did not do this to the dog hotel sofa..

I had to laugh as I drove Monty home, only a mile or so from his luxury dog hotel we passed the gates of this place.  I do in fact wonder whether I didn't get a bit muddled and left him at Champneys by mistake...

 Meanwhile the intrepid Boy 2 was on his own minibreak, a 4 day sailing trip with Daphnes4Boyz at Weymouth and Swanage, in Dorset.

They had lovely weather.

 

 

 I am very excited to get him back later today, though I expect he will be very tired, very grumpy and possibly a bit smelly...

He may have grown a beard , started smoking a pipe and become a hardened sea dog. 

In other news, I have invested in a new pair of willies* wellies.  Remember my Hunters I bought from Selfridges BD (Before Dog)?

  Every dog walker you meet will tell you Hunters are Not What They Used to Be (dark mutterings about being Made in China and being a mere fashion accessory..) Apparently Aigle Parcours are now Where It is At. 

For me the clincher is the pic of the exhausted dog next to the Aigle clad owner...

Right I am off to collect the fragrant Boy 2.  Boy 1, who has been living the dream (Single Child) is not going to be happy, he hoped I'd forget...also I have to tell Boy 1 that Monty dog has chewed yet another set of X Box headphones....have a nice weekend everyone, mine could be a bit lively!







*Dammit Blogger, stop auto correcting! You will get us both in trouble.

Early Morning Thoughts or Why Modern Technology is Rife with Danger

Even their own ads admit the possibility of getting drenched

Here is what came into my head first thing:

That is a weird loo.

Who knew there would be actual scarf porn?

You will be relieved* to hear that the two thoughts are not related.

Let's go to the loo first:
  I was watching YouTube** yesterday and there was an ad for a loo that swooshed water up your butt (sorry but can't find a delicate way of putting that, just hope the actual loo is more delicate about it).  

Saucy action shot, for more please send your bank account details to this number

A myriad questions arise, including:

What on earth? 

Is this optional or does it happen every time?

 Have they looked into the Elf and Safety implications? 

What if the timing is set wrong and it whooshes water at you before you have even  got your pants down?  How would you explain your drenched trousers?

Darling did you enjoy a refreshing toileting experience?
Yes but now I permanently wear sweatpants as I am getting through 8 pairs a day

What if your plumber gets the water pressure too high and it blasts you out of the loo on a tidal wave right into the middle of your dinner party guests?

Now, any one for coffee and mints?

What if the machines take over and the loo starts following you around, and every time you step out of line it mutters in sinister tones "Time to freshen up!" and blasts your bot??

Quite frankly I am surprised Mr Cameron hasn't recalled Parliament to debate the issue, or even summoned COBRA, it seems to me it could be the biggest threat facing our society since er....[insert threat of choice - Kardashians, tamagochi, ]

See it's definitely a sinister cult

Dear readers, have you had personal experience of such loos?  Please share your thoughts.

Now scarf porn:

I am currently experiencing major Scarflet Fever so was poking around the internets to see pics of scarves tied; as the Goddess MaiTai advises, when choosing a scarf, you need to see how it looks tied, not just opened out flat. This is very wise advice which of course I ignored to my cost when buying this scarf on evilBay.

Looks stunning flat.

Sorry the Ektorp is out of stock but have you tried our meatballs?

However when tied and worn looks worryingly like the IKEA corporate colours, I have nothing against IKEA but possibly not the look you want with your Hermes...


Among the many Google images of Hermes scarves there was one I clicked on - it then offered to show me lots of ways of tying scarves if I paid some money via PayPal..then I noticed a few others from the same "people"...Svetlana and Ludmilla would show me how to tie silk scarves and then they would get naughty....

What on earth?

Is this optional or does it happen every time?

Have they looked into the Elf and Safety implications?

Dry cleaning issues?

So my theory is that a small boy  is dragged by his mother to the Hermes mothership at Faubourg St Honore and has to wait for hours while his mother peruses all the Hermes loveliness; the boy lies under the tables of the Hermes wares and looks at the ladies' legs....so forever Hermes scarves and feminine charms are linked in his impressionable psyche....***

Am I being disgusting?
Probably.

But the most shocking, depraved aspect of all this:
(stop reading now if you are of a delicate disposition)
I am pretty sure those Hermes scarves sported by old Ludmilla and co were ...

FAKE.

I know.  The internet is a wicked, wicked place.


*Pun intended
** Ok, I admit, it was the audition scene from Flashdance, what can I say, I have a very rich cultural life
*** Note to self, never ever take Boys 1 and 2 to Hermes, cannot afford them developing Hermes fetish and throwing away all their money on the hard faced Svetlanas and Ludmillas of this world, who quite frankly would not be the daughters in law I would choose and would probably have some interesting ideas re water blasting loos..



HOUSEKEEPING:  PLEASE PLEASE ENTER THE BOOK GIVE AWAY  CLICK ON THIS
LINK NOW!  DON'T WORRY, SVETLANA AND LUDMILLA AREN'T THERE, THEY ARE ON THEIR TEA BREAK

From Our Paris Correspondent

Dahlings, these photos are hot off the press from my friend O, in Paris.

I just know you diehard Royalists will love these (Faux Fuchsia, I am thinking of you).

O was standing only a few metres away, he could have thrown a moped or a young French actress at old President Hollande.


Doesn't old Queenie look adorable in her pink bonbon number? And the Duke of Edinburgh, what a class act.

What does the man have in that black attache case?  Nuclear codes? Letters of last resort?  Moped drivers manuals?

O also has a fabulous Twitter account, which is retweeted by that world famous museum, the Louvre. 

https://twitter.com/scribeaccroupi/status/474079058951962624

Please take a look, he posts the most wonderful photos he takes of Louvre works of art. He has a really great eye for detail and for bringing artworks to life.  Now and again, I leave a really stupid comment, which I expect he really appreciates!!!

Right must go, off to see if I can get an audition with M. Hollande. Vroom, vroom!

Something Nasty in the Field

Dahlings did not expect to blog again so soon but had to share this as part of my personal trauma therapy.

I have a phobia about snakes.

I just saw a snake in Real Life while walking Monty Dog.

Serves me right for my post about the deadly yellow tree snak http://blightyworld.blogspot.co.uk/2010/07/hi-boy-won-here-i-am-doing-writing.html

So I am plodding along and suddenly notice right next to me by the hedge a grey snake coiled up in a figure of eight asleep in the sun. It's all a bit dreamlike. I don't scream or react, my mammalian brain thinks oh snake and I keep walking and keep walking and hope to goodness the dog does not decide to play with his new friend but luckily he does not even notice and I keep walking and walking and then start saying yuck, yuck, yuck.

When I have put a couple of fields between me and the Thing I phone Mr Blighty who is at a football tournament with Boy 2 and tell him and he says it's just a grass snake and I say, no it was grey and huge, it must be an anaconda, and Mr B gets all technical and nitpicky and points out anacondas are not native to Buckinghamshire and I say, well, there are lots of cheap flights these days...

And I carry on walking and feel better and then I see a red kite drifting on the warm air currents and I remember what the window cleaner who talks more than cleans told me: they like carrion, so if they swoop down and pick something up and it's alive, they drop it and once they dropped a snake on his patio...so now I feel much worse, am convinced the red kite is going to drop the snake on my head, so I walk along hunched over with one hand round the back of my neck to stop it going down my back and one hand on my head and taking tiny steps, so I look like a hundred year old woman...

And I am grateful the annoying teen Boy 1 is not with me because if he had picked it up or poked at it, he may be my dearly loved first born but I would definitely knock his teeth out...

And no, I did not stop to take a photo!!


So, it's important not to over react.  Here's the plan:

We sell the house and buy a tiny flat in Marble Arch London which should be suitably urban so as to avoid any snakes in the wild (note to self: check situation re London Zoo escapees)

Boys 1 and 2 to attend inner London comprehensive

Monty Dog needs the country life so he will go to Eton

I know all the lovely Aussie ladies will think I am a total wuss, which I am.  I can still remember their serpenty anecdotes on Faux Fuchsia's blog along the lines of   " so I was in the car with my baby and opened the door and a black mamba slivered in so I chopped its head off with an axe" and, my personal favourite, " I saw a massive rattler next to the gas cylinders outside and I was about to shoot it when my dad said geez, you shoot that cylinder, the whole house will go up.."

But here in our cosy little pocket of rural England this is what passes for peril.

Right, if you need me, I be indoors, in my wellies with my anorak hood up, looking at London flats and the Eton entrance requirements.