Revenge of Planet Dork

When I claim to having been kidnapped by aliens (usually forcing me to go shopping instead of carrying out housewifely good deeds), I am not being exactly truthful.

The reality is that I am not so much being abducted as being contacted by my own people. Over time, I have come to realise that I am 30% human, 20% chocolate (85% cocoa bean), 20% arithmetically challenged, and 70% Dorkoid, from the Planet Dork.


Recently there have been many moments when my home planet has called me.

Planet Dork strikes back - Part 1
A while ago we hired a tree surgeon to cut down some trees in our garden. I was terribly impressed by the whole set up - chainsaw, climbing up trees, ropes, pulleys. I spent ages staring out of the window in a sort of delirium treemens. (Stop it, you have been warned about these godawful puns). Every time Treeman looked up, there I was with my mouth open, staring. But I think I got away with it, he probably just thought I had spent too much time watching daytime TV or had seen something nasty in the woodshed as a child.

A few months later Treeman returned to lop bits off our neighbour's tree. I spotted him high up in the branches of an oak. I decided to get a photo, but mindful of my earlier behaviour, I resolved to be subtle about it. I crouched down in Boy 1 's room, to take the picture unseen. After a bit of faffing about with the camera I looked up. It was then that Treeman gave me a jaunty wave. Being so high up he could see exactly what I was up to. Caught out, I sheepishly waved back. I then opened the window and shouted out the first thing which came into my head: "I'm not a pervert, honestly, I have a blog.."

Treeman hiding from Mrs Blighty; we are hoping he will feel it is safe to come down soon..


Part 2 - The Dark Hallways of Dork
During his summer hols Mr Blighty seemed always to have workmen round to quote for work on the house. One evening it was the flooring guy's turn. I left it to Mr B. There was a lot of discussion of sub-floors and sanding. I was busy doing supper (flame-thrower and drills) and encouraging the boys to play nicely together (straitjackets and Tasers). Then Mr B called me into the hall to consult me. I went up and leant casually against him, in a cosy, wifely sort of way. Except it wasn't him. It was Floorman standing next to him. I was somewhat surprised; Floorman got a hell of a shock. Mr B just looked resigned. If I explain that Floorman is the same height as Mr B and also wears glasses..no, still Dorkonian and worrying that I can't recognise my husband even in my own hallway. And god help me if Treeman and Floorman ever compare notes..


Part 3 - Deadly Kiss of Dork
I recently read in some magazine that lipliner is the way forward if you want your lipstick to last. I knew I had some Chanel liner from ages ago. One morning before I took the boys to school I decided quickly to "do" lipliner. I was surprised how dark it was coming up, it had been a natural beigey-reddy colour, it must have darkened with age; never mind, I kept on. Gosh, really dark, very Goth, I needed to tone it down a bit. How odd. It was then that I looked at the pencil. Chanel - yes, Lipliner - no, eyeliner, brown kohl. "Look what silly Mummy's done!" I trilled merrily to the boys. "You look weird" said Boy 1. Boy 2 just screamed.

Part 4 - Dork hits rock bottom
We were staying with friends. I forgot my hairband/bath hat and needed something to keep my hair out of the way when washing. I improvised, very resourcefully I felt, by putting a pair of knickers on my head (clean ones, come on, I do have some standards). Mr B walked in. "Do you know you have a pair of knickers on your head?" he asked. And then " No, don't tell me, I'd rather not know.."


And finally....

The Dimness of Dork
I was sitting reading one lunchtime and realised I needed to go back to the opticians, my reading glasses just weren't strong enough any more. Also I couldn't seem to get enough light on the page. It was only that evening that I noticed my sunglasses lying on top of my book..




Is it just me? Or are there other migrants from Planet Dork out there? Anyone? Anyone at all?

More aliens and nails

Since my last alien encounter, things have been getting very Mulder and Scully around here (used to like that programme). The very next day, having lamented my time wasting search for a top/blouse thingie, look what picture was on my calendar! Spooky. That's just the kind of top I need. It's French, from the 1620s. Wonder if Karl was already designing for Chanel then? Not sure that it's machine washable though.

And did you see the comment I got, allegedly from Beth at Mint Velvet, the company that makes some of the tops I tried on? Inviting me to a blogger's preview. But I wasn't fooled for a minute. Look at the name: bETh. ET! Those aliens again, planning to abduct me, rearrange my brain and send me home having pre-ordered the entire Mint Velvet autumn collection.

It was Boy 2's birthday earlier this week, he got a big pack of Star Wars Lego. More evidence of alien activity. On the subject of Lego, check out this comedy sketch, I love it (warning - contains bad language so not suitable for children, which is a shame).

http://http//www.youtube.com/watch?v=FrleGh-nplM

If the link does not work, google Eddie Izzard Star Wars canteen sketch! I am not sure of my technology!

In other unsettling news, it seemed that my love affair with nail polish was faltering. I had taken a Wrong Turn colour-wise. The worst is the one on the far left, Revlon Posh Pink, a pearlised number, really not suitable, very Doris the older secretary who knits and always disappears to the hairdressers mid morning just when you need her most, not that I've ever met anyone like that of course, just imagining....; the one next to it is Essie Splash of Grenadine, too mauvy, next to that Barry M, Bright Pink, just too too pink, then No 7 teal colour, just too weird, and No7 golden thingie, not so bad. (Note to my mother and Mr B: most of these bought with money off voucher so only cost £2, honest) (crosses fingers behind back).

I think also the colours which suit change according to the seasons - now we are in autumn darker colours seem more attractive. And I read somewhere dark colours are more flattering to short nails.

The nail polish phase has also caused peeling nails. Maybe these products will help.

But I think my interest in nail polish may just have been rekindled, thanks to a trip to a beauty supplies wholesaler (BondLink in glamorous Hemel Hempsted). A nanny told me about it at pick up (nail polish, bringing people together). It stocks a pleasingly wide range of OPI.

Behold the dinky lusciousness of all those bottles.

I will report further on what I bought when Mr B has been prepared, emotionally.

I also merrily sploshed on some Chanel polishes when in Boots the other day. Excuse rubbishness of pic, looks as if I am climbing up kitchen wall. Oh right. I was.

L-R: Vendetta, Blue Satin, Rouge Noir, Particuliere (the latter is out of stock).

I bought Paradoxal. So now I have a little Chanel polish shrine. (Note to self: you are SO giving one of these to DD, you are NOT keeping them all for yourself. DD if you are reading, please insist I hand over the polish, ignore the death grip, it's just a reflex!) Please don't think I spend all my time obsessing about fripperies and nonsense. I continue to take my role as mother very seriously. Here is my latest motivational message to the boys.

I feel this covers the main points of classroom etiquette very nicely.

I am not neglecting my cultural side either. Mr B has been recommending this trilogy for ages. So of course I ignored him and read everything but. Now I have finally got down to it, it's good. Mr B, you really should read these books, they are excellent!

I have also found a helpful motivational message for Mr Blighty, courtesy of the beauty wholesalers. He was so moved when I showed it to him, he did not speak to me all evening. Bless.

I am a very caring person, I really am.

Chaotic and random post

A revived Blighty, in H&M leopardskin scarf arrangement and "vintage" bling from Crooks and Nannies

Only week 2 of boy hols and already I feel out of control. Not helped by my recent malaise (posh way of saying feeling pukesville). But you can't keep a Blighty down! (Actually there is nothing more I would like than to lie languidly in crisp white sheets and recover my strength, but first, my sheets aren't up to it and secondly, I am a Woman, which we all know means getting on with it, Come What May. I am reminded of that Monty Python sketch where a stiff upper lip soldier is attacked in his tent overnight by a tiger. In the morning one of his legs is missing, eaten by the tiger. But he stoically insists it's just a mosquito bite or scratch. I feel women all over the world take the same line daily, I have heard of mothers going to school Nativity plays whilst suffering from pneumonia, for example).

The whole holiday thing seems to be turning into an exercise in Advanced Logistics. I feel I need a campaign room with green table, map and miniature figures as in old WW2 films:

0900 hours Boy 1 and friend to Sailing Course; Boy 2 to Legoland

1600 hours Boy 1 and friend to swimming pool, Boy 2 still in Legoland and refusing to leave

1800 hours Boy 1 and friend home for tea, Boy 2 still refusing to leave Legoland

1900 hours father of Boy 1 friend arrives to collect son

1900 hours +1, Boy 2 arrives home from Legoland

1900+2 Wardrobes R US executive arrives to measure up for wardrobes in boys' rooms; I insist on calling him Cliff though actually his name is Steve

2100 Exhausted Boy 2 gets in bed while Cliff/Steve still measuring up in his room

2100+30 Catch Boy 1 creeping into kitchen and shout him back to bed

2200 Cliff/Steve finally departs having told me his wife doesn't like camping (is this the outdoorsy version of "my wife doesn't understand me"?)

2200+1 I water garden and side gate slams locking me out

2200+ 2 I cunningly remove flipflop and use this to lever open latch

2200+15 Boy 1 tries out Sailing Pre Capsize Exercise Anxiety but is bustled back to bed, again

2200+ 30 Mr B arrives home from work, he looks wistfully towards fridge and I shout at him that the kitchen is now closed..

Gratuitous picture of rose and er, other thing, S, if you are reading this is the rose you and S gave me, it's lovely, thank you!

And all round me are signs that things are Out of Control.

The evil pile of mending, sneering at me

I pulled myself together and resolved to deal with things.

I decided a visit to the stationery shop to source files was needed, yes, my life will be filed, ordered, tidied, under control! I bought this very swish file.

And these files, for boys' holiday work (Ha! I have outlined an ambitious programme of maths exercises, the extent of my fantasy world is awe-inspiring).

But after the stationery shop those wretched aliens intervened once again ( the same ones that kidnap me and force me to go shopping when the Mountain of Ironing needs to be scaled).

I found myself in a little junk shop I know called Nooks and Crannies, which I have now renamed Crooks and Nannies (crooks, well we won't go there; nannies, as there was a really nice young American nanny/au pair in there doing a great job of keeping her charges under control and entertained whilst herself having a life saving break from park/finger painting/potty training etc).

Tray of brooches at Crooks and Nannies, delish!

Above, miniature tea set from Crooks and Nannies, used to keep Schmutter ClutterBelow, ginger jar from C and N, v FF me thinks!

When I got home the aliens brainwashed me and told me to ignore the washing, mending, underpants crisis, shirt button deficit, kitchen bin surplus, etc. No, I needed first to deal with a recent, serious problem I have run into.

I was going to call it Varnish Duplication but the acronym is rather unfortunate (always felt sorry at school for Victoria Dunlop who had no middle name). So I will call it the Compulsively Lavish Acquisition of Polish instead, much better.

Yes, doing swatches of nail colour! The checkout lady at the supermarket the other morning who was wearing some very nice OPI (she couldn't remember the name) (nail varnish, bringing people together!) told me she does this as she is big varnish fan and takes her chart with her when shopping to avoid duplication. Brilliant! An excellent housework avoidance strategy too!

Right, must go, 1100 hours, time for Mandarin for Beginners.

Iron Willpower

Mrs B styling her hair, languidly

As a domestic goddess and top housewife, I always action household tasks without delay.

Sorry, just climbed back on my chair, I think I may have pulled a muscle laughing.

So imagine my dismay at this unhappy scene.

(The giveaway as to how long this lot has been lingering is the summery clothes; it’s been at least 2 weeks now since summer ended here in Blightyland).

It was IMPERATIVE that I dealt with this immediately.


Which is why I went straight to the kitchen to make cupcakes. We have no obvious need for cupcakes but I genuinely felt we could not go on without any. To extend the cupcake process further, I debuted an icing bag thingie I had bought from the Lakeland catalogue about 3 years ago (when I was in the full throes of a nasty case of catalogitis freeshippingtons with a side order of kitchen gadget fever). Actually I have used the kit just once before, I had the brilliant idea of using it to pump Bolognese sauce into cannelloni; the results were spectacular, but not in a good way.

I need a lot more practice with the icing bag, more shot out the top than the bottom. I also overdid the food colouring – I am hoping the boys will come down off the ceiling soon.

To my total surprise I then found myself not at the ironing board but in the nearby town, pootling round the shops. How did that happen? I was astounded. Possible explanations:

• I was abducted against my will by aliens, who, later realising I was no good to experiment on, instead dropped me off at the Weeping Willows Shoppe Centre;
• I was just on my way to fill the iron up with water when I fell into a trance-like state and drove to the shops;
• Faced with the prospect of ironing I realised that life as we know it would end unless I got Boy 1 a Reader Windball ™and, for myself, some Seche Vite topcoat for my nails.*
*Both highly specialised items of equipment, both smell strange but only one used by cricketers; actually I wouldn’t be too sure about that.

Mr B will of course be told that the first or possibly the second are the only credible explanations but I am prepared to admit here entre nous that it was the last. Mrs Trefusis, whose blog I enjoy, referred a while ago to the term “Bunburying” which comes from Oscar Wilde’s “The Importance of Being Earnest”. Algernon, one of the characters in the play, has invented an sick friend called Bunbury whom he always needs to visit, when he wants to get himself out of onerous social commitments. The need to visit the shops when faced with unappealing domestic tasks would seem to be my version of Bunburying.

Fortunately for Western civilisation I was able to purchase the cricket ball. I then proceeded to Sallys, a jolly chain of shops which sells beauty supplies to trade and consumers. I had a most enjoyable time there: They had OPI polish. They had Seche Vite. They even had Pervo Gloves.


OPI on sale!! But did not buy. Why??

Moroccan oil