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

Festival of Fuchsia

Dahlings, it's been excitement overload.  I've been participating in the Festival of Fuchsia.  Dear FF, as you no doubt know, has been Over Here on a Garden Tour and to visit her sister in London.  I was thrilled to go to Paris with her and her sister for the weekend.

Dahlings, I felt I had died and gone to heaven as I climbed onto the Eurostar with FF, her sis and their matching Chanel handbags.

The trip was eventful, not least because a dastardly clipboard wielding pickpocket relieved me of my iPhone on the rue de Rivoli.

So no Paris pics from me.

But I did spend an entertaining hour in the Commissariat de police, tormenting the clerk with my French.  I can report that the police in France seem as preoccupied with snacks as the police here: important phone calls took place where the number of sugars in coffee was clarifed; beefy armed cops strolled in bearing cakes and biscuits; other police operatives helped themselves to buns and chocolate.  I innocently asked them if they watched the French cop drama Spiral (Engrenages) and had to dig my nails in my hand to prevent hysterical laughter when the clerk told me in all seriousness that Spiral was an accurate depiction of their professional life.  I must have missed the scenes involving hot chocolate and doughnuts...

Well FF may have shown me Chanel and Hermes, and her sister took us to the most lovely restaurants, but I feel I did my bit by showing them the inside of a police station....


FF gave me this lovely silk scarf from Honkers so I scarfed it up in a jaunty Parisian fashion.

On Sunday we strolled round the Place des Vosges and poked our noses into the Pavillon de la Reine Hotel, in a courtyard off the Place.  Mr B and I spent our first wedding anniversary there. Here's a visual from those days, one of us now has less hair and one of us can no longer fit into that skirt (really wish Mr B would stop wearing my clothes...)

And what did I bring home from Paris?

Sugar lumps.

Yes, I know, odd, but I adore the way the French do the small things in such a dinky, charming way and sugar lumps are one of them.


It was so lovely to catch up with dear FF, we talked nonstop on the Eurostar all the way there and all the way back.  I'd just like to apologise to the man in seat 67 (outward) and the man in seat 32 (return); sorry about your headaches but I do think trying to climb out of the train when it was hitting 150mph was a bit extreme...

The Easter Bunny says Boo!

Dahlings how are you? Feeling a bit sick? No, I agree, it couldn't have been the large Easter egg, it was definitely the side salad that was a smidge too far..

Here I have been looking after my neighbour's rabbit. A rabbit! Over Easter!  See what a happening kinda person I am!

I was totally the right person for the job:

I've seen Fatal Attraction few times.

I have this suspiciously soft furry jacket*.

And I have this useful bunny care manual.

I propped it up and changed the pages each day, to keep bunny amused.


Bunny was very cute.

Also smart - this is her reaction when she first saw me.

Bye bye Bunny, it was nice to meet you and remember, if you can't see your food bowl, it's probably because you have your hind legs in it...

In other news, I have set up a tweet gizmo at the side of this blog.  Don't miss my profound insights on life and retweets of stuff that makes me laugh. Yep, Blighty, at the cutting edge of technology, five years later...


*Relax, it's faux fur!

Memo to Angelic Arthur

Lovely B (cousin of Mr B) is to become a Grandma: her daughter is expecting her first baby. Mr B and I are very relieved, we thought we had put R and her hubs off children.  After all, they have had the opportunity to observe Boys 1 and 2 at close quarters, and it ain't pretty.

It turns out R and hubs have ordered a Perfect Baby, so it won't go in for any  Boy 1 and 2 shenanigans.

Boys 1 and 2 are not impressed by Angelic Arthur (as they call him).   They have decided he needs some pointers for when he hits town, so he does not bring disgrace to the League of Boys.  They have only just forgiven Faux Fuchsia's boy for being such an adorable baby: luckily he has redeemed himself in their eyes with all the cushion action.*

Top Tips for Angelic Arthur

Food should be worn, ditto food containers.

Clear those bookshelves; if you can't reach, stand on the pushalong Thomas your parents will regret buying you (less a toy, more a tactical assault vehicle).  Also clear out inside of drawers until your parents tie up the drawers (that's fine, you can then focus more on the bookshelves).  Also attempt to pull the TV on top of yourself, so your parents end up putting a small portable above toddler level.

 

 

 

Wear a really bad toupe so you look like a 1950s TV host.

 

 

 

 

 

Put EVERYTHING in your mouth, the more unhygienic the better.  Remember, nothing exists until you have clamped your jaws round it.  Ensure that Type A perfectionist mothers never ask you round for a playdate again.. those type of mothers just don't like another kid's drool on their kids' toys...

 

 

Wait till Mum not looking and then pull out about 300 nappy sacks.

 

As Mum wails, look at her sweetly, like this.  Remember, it's good to mess with her mind.

 

 

Fit yourself into unfeasibly small spaces: give Mum a lovely surprise by popping out of the laundry basket like a demented jack-in-the-box...

 

 

Or try ramming something on your head.  But careful, when mothers panic they get creative with olive oil.

 

 

Towards the end of the day, after Mum has cleared up, take it up a notch and empty your toy boxes into the kitchen.  How Mum will laugh...

 

 

 

 

 

 

*But Le Child FF needs to spice things up a bit, how about Nutella on the cushions?  Or a least show Mummy how you can get the top off your sippy cup..go on, you can do it!

Killer Knitwear

Dahlings, how are we today? Really?  How on earth did he get it stuck in there?  Awful!*

So Mr B and I have just finished watching The Killing 2.  Always a bit behind the times at Blighty HQ.

Gosh, it was BRILLIANT!  I had heard that it wasn't as good as the original Killing, but I loved it, in fact I think it was even better.

It ticked all the boxes for Nordic Noir:

• knitwear - must admit I was a bit worried at the start as SaraLund (you must run it together into one word to sound authentic Danish) was sporting a plain red number; but my fears eased when I noticed it did in fact have the trad  Scandinavian pattern on it; then later a more familiar jumper reappeared - I gave such a loud shriek in recognition that Mr B thought I had seen a major plot twist.  To be honest, I don't think Mr B is fully on board, knitwear-wise, as his main comment was how on earth could a lowly police officer afford those really expensive jumpers? Remember they gave one to old Camilla Duchess of Charles? The Daily Mail told me they cost a bomb

• gore
• lovely sounding Danish: "Tak!"
• that spooky music (which always speeds up at the end of each episode when they start doing a montage of the different characters so you know it's about to end and you shout "Oh no, it's the end!" and you say "Can't we just watch another episode, it's only 2am and who needs sleep really?"..)



Thomas Buch, considering his next snack option  Source

• charismatic politician : Thomas Buch,  very jolly and amusing and enjoyed eating chocolate, except once when he was a bit upset and opted for a bit of fruit

• about 15 different suspects, each of whom Definitely Did It, till you see the next episode and then you say, of course I knew it couldn't possibly be them all along...

• Brix, SaraLund's boss, looking moody yet strangely attractive and very tall

Brix, looking enigmatic, or possibly a spot of indigestion?
source

• full frontal willy shot - yes ladies, in one scene SaraLund, intent on tracking down an army officer she needs to interview, marches straight into the changing rooms/showers at the army barracks. So refreshing as a change from naked women and probably very Nordic, what with all those saunas and stuff.  I explained to Mr Blighty that this was no doubt a Very Important Scene and that I needed to see it again to search for vital clues...Mr Blighty muttered something to himself, sounded like "TotallPerverte", which I think is Danish for Top Detective?? Tak Mr B.

*don't be disgusting you lot, I was actually thinking of a recent newspaper report about kids getting their tongues stuck inside those metal drinking bottles, poor things had to have an operation to get it out.  After I had read that, I had the most dreadful urge to try sticking my own tongue in the boys' metal bottles.  What can I say, I was that kid at school, who always had to do the ONE  thing we were told not to do...

Sweet Jesus!

It's my birthday today and my friend Special K just dropped this round for me:

And now I have completely lost focus...

Birthday? What birthday?

In Which I am Almost Elizabeth Hurley

Dahlings, me and Miss Elizabeth Hurley have long led parallel lives....we are practically indistinguishable...(climbs back onto chair after mad fit of laughing at own joke as usual...)

As I may have mentioned in passing  a propos of nothing at all to a few people Everybody I Know (plus a terrified stranger in the frozen foods section of Tesco), Boy 1 went to the same posho pre-prep school in London attended by Miss Hurley's son....in fact, I did say hello to her once: she was waiting to put money in the parking meter and I was trying to get Boy 2 to relinquish his death grip on said parking meter after I made the mistake of letting him feed in the coins...as I wrestled with the octopus like Boy 2 who clung on like a demented limpet while turning puce, I feel me and Miss Hurley really bonded... (note to self: need to calm down on the marine imagery/Jacques Cousteau dvds).


Here's Boy 1 back in the day:

And here is further visual evidence that we were batting way out of our league by signing up for that school: *

From CBBC News website

From Famecrawler website - yes really

Later my life and that of Miss Hurley again interconnected: the very week news of Miss Hurley's relationship to Shane Warne became public, highly compromising photos of me surfaced on the internet** and I was forced to deny rumours of an involvement with cricketer Wayne Shorn.

 And now we have another convergence.  You may recall Miss Hurley's elaborate wedding complete with Indian costume and dancing.

From Hello magazine

Well, only the other night I attended Greggs Grammar's very own Bollywood evening.

Here's my outfit.

Mr Blighty came too and I knew we were in for a good night when he mentioned he was going to leave his vest off as he might get too hot.  Phwoarrrr Mr Blighty, you animal you!

Mr Blighty followed the dance demonstration by Mr Jay Kumar very carefully - he particularly liked the move known as "change the light bulb" (though he did express concerns about whether Mr Kumar was properly certified as an electrician).  Tremendous fun! Here's a clip Mr Kumar in action.

Better go now dahlings, I'm expecting a call from Estee Lauder's people...

T, thanks for the bindi, sets off my eyes a treat

 *But worth every penny in terms of the anecdotes I have wrung out of it...

** ok, I admit I put the photos on the internet myself and on my own blog, but it's not easy being a D list sleb you know..



Parental Concerns

Dahlings, I must admit to being a tad concerned about old Boy 2.

A few little things, nothing major...

At supper the other night,  out of the blue Boy 2 asks "What does "shat" mean?"
I started well (once I had finished choking and had a soothing drink of Bucks finest tap water).
I told him it was a very bad word and he was not to use it.
But then my big mouth kicked in and I got all explain-y:
" "Shat" is actually the past participle of "shit" " says I.

Boy 2 considers this for a second and then says:
" So it's one that doesn't end in "ed";  in our English lessons Mrs Collyfleur is always asking us for examples of ones that don't end in "ed" ".

How long before I get a phone call from the school?


A few days later Boy 2 is sitting at breakfast.

He peers at this fruit loaf and I can see his lips move as he works out the lettering.

"IRISH BUMCRACK*!" pronounces Boy 2.

Excellent. Now he's going be writing in those "describe your Mummy" pieces at school that " My Mum likes bumcrack."  I suppose it makes a change from " My Mummy likes shopping and wine. My Daddy works hard."

Finally Boy 2 and I have been much preoccupied over the Easter hols by his history homework, which was to write a diary of a Roman.   Which as every mother kno', means I have been slaving away over a hot computer while Boy 2 skulks off and plays on his iPad in another room.

Unfortunately the homework coincided with my reading this rather racy poem/novel.

I heard it being discussed on old Radio 4 and thought I'd give it a go.  It's very good, very clever, about an African girl in Roman London being married off to a rich Roman.  Not suitable for a 9 year's Roman project though.

I managed to keep all orgies, whippings and vomiting at banquets out of Boy 2's Roman diary.  But even then, the diary developed a life of its own. The writer, a rich merchant living in Rome, goes for a spin in his friend Marcus's new chariot.  Then they go to the baths together where they engage in some weight-lifting and wrestling, before rubbing oil into their bodies...noooooo! The whole thing was looking slightly homo-erotic.  I tried to redress the balance by suddenly giving the writer a wife, who just turned up from the country - but that made it even worse.  Why was she at the villa while he was in Rome?  Why had he not mentioned her before?  Does she know about Marcus?


Actually, having just read all this, I think the person I should be worried about is me.

Grape anyone?

The Easter Bunny Hops Off and Other News

Dahlings! Phew!  The Easter hols are over - Boys 1 and 2 went back to school this Thursday..Daphnes4Boyz like to ease themselves gently back into the term, so no sooner have you loaded up the 3 tons of sports equipment into the car and deposited it and boys at the school, then you are back taking it all home again ...in fact in my case I was back at the school within 1 hour as it turned out Boy 2 had left behind his piano lesson* bag...

Here is a visual of our Easter decorations.

Now here is the real picture.

Robo Rat came courtesy of Louise in Townsville - gee, thanks Louise!! Louise sent a huge box of things for the boys, including Robo Tarantula and 2 huge life like rubber snakes.  The rubber snake had a not inconsiderable role in the school production of "Joseph and his Multi-Coloured Dreamcoat"** and now has its own Equity card.

We had fun over Easter - Lovely B and her daughter Lovely R and Lovely A came to stay for the Easter weekend.  We did a little trip to Windsor, it was biting cold, there was a huge queue all the way down  the street for the Castle.  The Queen was at home as the Royal Standard flag thing was flying but she did not ask us in for a cuppa.  One word: Republic.

Instead of taking a nice pic of the Castle for you all, I took a pic of a nearby clothes hire shop - it offers a free jacket with any kilt package.  Of course I found the phrase "kilt package" very amusing.  One thing about having the mental age of an 8 year old is one is rarely at a loss for a laugh..

The Easter hols continued long after the Easter weekend was over. 

To keep myself sane I fell back on my tried and tested remedy of gritty detective novels.

This quartet (known as the Red Riding quartet) is brilliant but not for the faint-hearted;  I don't want to be crude but it's battery and buggery all the way, and that's just the good guys....it's set in Yorkshire in the 70s and 80s and features police corruption and child murders, set against the background of the real life Yorkshire Ripper murders.  The four books  are linked, and I am hoping all will be resolved soon as I near the end of the last book, but somehow I am not expecting a happy ending.

Right, time for some more left over Easter egg.


*Dear Mrs Music Teacher, is it a good sign that after £300 of piano lessons (not that I am counting the cost or anything) Boy 2's only ambition is to play the Crazy Frog theme (what I know as the Beverly Hills cop music) as shown on YouTube?

** to make it more accessible to Daphne's parents it was re-titled "Joseph and his Missoni Knitware"

My Love For Mr B

Valentine's Flowers from Mr B

This post was meant for Valentine's Day but every time I went to the computer yesterday there was a small boy attached to it, must contact the Computer Help Desk about this..*

Dahlings, I think we have known each other long enough for me to open up to you  about my innermost feelings and emotions. Normally I am very private person ....(falls off chair laughing).

I would like to share with you my love for Mr B.

For yes, I love him, he is adorable.
And let me count the reasons why:

I love his blue blue eyes
I love his Northern roots and the way he says "sing-ging"
I love his sense of humour
I love that he is losing his hair just a little bit
I love his terrible dancing
I love his voice
I love his skill with words and composition
I love that he has won a number of Ivor Novello awards for his song writing
I love that he is a multi-millionaire performer, recording artist and record producer....


WHAT?   WHAT AM I GOING ON ABOUT?

Oh, you thought I was talking about Mr Blighty?  Noooooo.

I am rambling about Mr Gary Barlow, lead singer of Take That, former X factor judge and national treasure in the making..


I missed the whole Take That phenomenon first time round but now I am in just the demographic for Gary and the boys Take That Two.  There are loads of  middle aged ladies very partial to Gary and the boys, many of them will have been fans first time round  - there is a tremendous amount of goodwill for the band.   I had a lovely chat with one of the older lady librarians the other day and she had been to see Take That in concert last summer.

My nearest and dearest find my crush on Gary hilarious but really Mr B (my Mr B) only has himself to blame as he gave me this for Christmas, which I found fascinating.




And then I read this. Also very interesting.  And funny. 

And Mr B got me these too.

Mr B (my Mr B) also tried to get me tickets for a charity concert Gary did in the Albert Hall just before Christmas but it was all sold out (drat those librarians....)

Boys 1 and 2 find Gary and his sing-ging totally uncool so I have the added benefit of being able to threaten to play Gary in the car if they misbehave  - "Nooooo, Mummy, please not Gary....nooooo!"
Also the risk of humiliation if their school mates hear Gary blaring out of the car at drop off  "Want you back, want chu back, want chu back for good .."

I leave you with Mr B (the other Mr B) doing some dance moves at the Albert Hall concert..he is not afraid to make fun of himself and his boy band days..

*Computer Help Desk have just got in touch - they recommend a Taser.