Medallion (Wo)Man

Necklace from TopShop

Dahlings, how are you?  Here I am modelling my new lionhead medallion, so very 1980s Versace. Grandma Whacker, who is a Leo, is after it.  But I really think you have to be a deranged marsupial to carry off this look.

This post has been brought to you through considerable adversity. In the middle of a vital step in the artistic process (eating crisps while prodding at the computer keys), the phone rang;
"Hello" says I.
"Hello" says a male voice.
"Hello" says I again (I am good at this kind of sparkling repartee).
"I'm phoning about your steam rally" says the voice.
"Er, I think you must have the wrong number, I don't think I am having a steam rally...in fact I'm not."
(At this point I have the almost overwhelming urge to go "WooWoo" and make puffing noises but manage not to).
The caller seemed very unconvinced, as though he thought I was holding out on him and really did have some sidings and a nice steam engine hidden away in the garden, but reluctantly he agreed to go away..

During this telephonic interlude Boy 1 has been poking at the computer and has lost all the uploaded photos.

Boy 1 is now in a Witness Protection Programme ....

MD Formulations - when I used to go for facials at Harrods during an ealier, pre-children skincare phase, they were very keen on this brand..it's got some sort of alpha-hydroxy whatnots in it that resurface and fill potholes

In other news I am having a Skincare Moment.  They happen occasionally.  So I have purchased this attractively named Adult Anti-Blemish Kit.  It could be worse, they could have called it "Spots and Wrinkles Aren't You The Lucky One?"  What a loss I am to the marketing profession!

There are a lot of lotions and potions to apply and lots of steps and instructions.  And numbering and cross-referencing. I am starting to wonder if I clicked on the wrong item and popped the Build Your Own Large Hadron Collider into my internet shopping basket by mistake.


Oh well.  At least I can tell Mr B hand on heart that there is no way I can rejoin the world of work as I am busy full-time with my skincare regime...

Now, just look at this Leopardy Goodness! Yum!  When I took my decluttering into the local charity shop these winked at me - they are from TopShop and for only £8 it would be a crime not to.

I do seem to be getting more and more leopardy; if I buy a leopardy sofa and rig myself up in all my leopardy items, I would be completely camouflaged...and could read novels undetected by others at Blighty HQ..

I always take great comfort in Faux Fuchsia's maxim: leopard print is a neutral

This last photo is Shocking.  Faux Fuchsia and her followers may wish to prepare themselves emotionally (copyright FF 2010/11).  My Parlux has just spluttered into non-existence.  It is an ex- Parlux etc etc.  Here it lies in the garage, waiting to go to the Big Hair Salon in the Sky.  I have a bad track record with hairdryers.  Perhaps using them to blowtorch the creme brulees was a mistake.

Must go now dahlings.  I have some shunting to do.

Mr Blighty does Project Management and Other Happenings

Life seems eventful at the moment, even if most of the events are nothing to do with me!



Boy 2 enjoyed a little birthday party with a few of his closest friends, which ended in them all wrestling in a sweaty heap on the kitchen floor (why do I never go to that sort of party??)


Mr Blighty discovered a flat tyre on his new bike. The horror!
Mr Blighty discovered his old cycling shorts from 1996. The horror!



Boy 1 left his school library book out in the rain and burst into floods of tears at the thought of taking the soggy mess back to the School Librarian. We spent an evening trying out various drying out techniques - use of Parlux hairdryer (did not add Moroccan oil to speed up drying time); placing by/in tumble dryer and lastly, oven.



Small panic when Mr B came home, and collected his supper from the oven. Would Boy 1 have to explain at school that his father had eaten his school book? (a variation on the dog eating homework scenario). Luckily Mr B was able to tell his supper from a mushed up paperback book; with my cooking that is not as easy as you might think.



Mr Blighty has decided he needs to do Project Management on various home improvement projects mooted for BlightyHQ. He wants to do something important sounding called a Gant Chart. I was summoned to provide a suitable note book. This is what I came up with.


Mr B was not impressed. But I do believe the business world would run much more smoothly and harmoniously if nice books with kittens on were used, though I am also prepared to accept covers with butterflies or pretty flowers.

Bad news here in Blightyland: the government has announced that it is stopping child benefit payments for higher rate tax payers. This is a bitter blow: I only had children to get my hands on the benefit money. I will now have to return the children , but am worried I have lost the receipts for them. Ha! Relax, I am only joking, I am not such a bad mother....the receipts are carefully stored under a magnet on the front of the fridge, so I can get a full refund from the Chelsea and Westminster Hospital maternity ward. Phew!


Mr Blighty has just arrived home from another tumultous day at the Big House (in a quaint custom, a hangover from more civilised times, the lawyer/draftsmen down tools at 5pm and go take tea together; parliamentary democracy as we know it could be undermined if the chocolate Bourbons run out..) He has just caught me staring vacantly at this, from the Zara on line shop.

Hold on, I'll just ask him if I should get a Cherokee necklace.

Well, I really don't think that kind of language is very parliamentary, Mr B. Your dinner is in the oven. Or the tumble dryer. Or the school library.

The Morning Scramble

The boys are back to school today after half-term, so the morning scramble has also re-started. No matter how hard I try to prepare ahead (clothes hung on hooks, bags packed, cattle prod fully charged) it always seems to descend into frantic chaos. I realised things were getting out of hand a while ago when a neighbour, a very nice retired lady, told me she and her husband always enjoyed watching our progress (or lack of it) up the road every morning (for example, Boy 2 lying in protest flat out on the pavement, me pulling Boy 1 out of a hedge or from behind someone’s dustbin..)

It was already a challenge. Then, in a brilliant attempt to make my life even more exciting, I decided to embrace glamour, or at least, try to get myself out of the house looking presentable rather than in Nutella-covered pyjamas. It is all to do with getting older and realising I need all the help I can get, looks-wise, and this means blowdrying my hair into a respectable shape – beautiful young girls can get away with straight, shoulder-length hair still damp from the shower, but I was looking haggard and worryingly like Rasputin on a bad hair day.



Parlux as recommended by FF and top hairdressers
So the morning timeline now goes something like this:
5.45am Mr B arises, ablutes, breakfasts and departs in one swift, fluid operation (that man can really move when he wants, as evidenced by the wedding escape attempt, so glad I went for the armed guard option when arranging the wedding cars).
6.35am I dream about Leonardo di Caprio, though worryingly fantasy involves me going to collect Leonardo’s car from valet parking; so sad that even my dreams involve boring admin tasks and even sadder that I find this really quite exciting.
6.45am Boy 1 standing by my bed fully dressed including school tie, looking vaguely menacing.
6.47am Haul sorry carcass to shower.
7.05am Prepare myself mentally and physically for Blow Drying Operation. Apply Sectioning Clips as advised by hairdresser (had never heard of these before and Mr B v amused, saying he always thought I needed sectioning*, ha ha, Mr B, ha ha).
7.06am Begin drying operation.
7.07am Incredible wailing and screaming from region of Boy 2. Ignore, carry on drying.
7.08am Boys 1 and 2 now involved in violent verbal altercation, then hysterical crying from Boy 2. Switch off dryer most reluctantly and investigate. Boy 2, clad only in underpants, is puce and covered in tears and shouts “He’s stolen my £5 note.” Go into top investigative mode and finally, after extensive cross-examination and forensic work, ascertain that:
Boy 2 gave Boy 1 £5 note (gift from Grandma) in return for 2 Pokemon cards several weeks ago;
Boy 2 now wishes to undo deal;
Boy 1 feels a contract is a contract.
7.30am I invoke dodgy equitable principles à la esteemed judge/lawlord, cite “restitutio in integrum” which I vaguely remember from term 1 of law degree and make Boy 1 give back money and Boy 2 return cards.
7.35am Return to hair which has now dried in funny way and sticks up due to sectioning clips.
7.40am Realise time, abandon hair, rush downstairs, frantically get Nutella all over kitchen worktop and self, throw assorted foodstuffs at boys, make hot chocolate which Boy 2 NEVER actually drinks.

Breakfast, a time of calm and quiet and undrunk hot chocolate

7.50am Boy 1 now lounging comfortably on sofa in kitchen deep in book, refusing to do teeth, put shoes on or remove Nutella from face, on grounds that we are irredeemably late, and it is all my fault for “lying in bed snoring”.
7.55am Chase both boys round kitchen table as part of morning exercise regime.
8am Load boys, rucksacks, tennis rackets, cricket bats, book bags etc into boot of car.
8.01am Let boys out of boot of car so they can climb into car seats.
8.04am Decant boys at school, wave merrily and drive off at top speed.
8.06am Return to school as have forgotten to unload clobber from boot.
8.10am Return home and survey the scene, lie down till feelings of futility and exhaustion pass..
And the best thing? We get to do it all again tomorrow!


Has that child gone to school without socks on again?

Dental hygiene is so important

No, words fail me, I'm off for another lie down

* UK Mental Health Acts