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.

De Retour *

Right dahlings, listen up, haven't got much time before I meet Liz Hurley for lunch/zoom round Tescos etc.

Basically, it's been constant glamour and loveliness here: one very naughty dog, gallons of  mud, one chewed up sofa, two pre-teen/teen boys ("But I had a shower yesterday!"), me and my increasing resemblance to the love child of Norma Desmond and Blanche Dubois and  Mr B, trudging bravely on amid the chaos, hoping for a nice quiet cup of tea and a browse of the Hayter lawnmower catalogue.

Here are some visual aids:


Monty dog the Border terrier as a pup

Monty dog as he is now.

He is IN DISGRACE as, to celebrate  the very first night of our new kitchen floor*, he (stop reading now if you are of a delicate disposition) wee'd on it....and in a most cunning manner: having carefully studied the lay of the land, he chose a spot where almost all evidence ran away UNDER the fridge/freezer.  Nothing says glamour like crouching down shoving a dusting stick thingie under the fridge at 7am shouting, "Actually I hope it is wee, otherwise the freezer is leaking!"

Further visuals:




Mud as experienced as new dog owner during the wettest winter ever.

Bluebells in the woods.

Me grinning like a maniac, with 2 hours worth of make up and special lighting from the film studio (Norma, I told you)  in the lovely MaiTai's collage of ladies wearing their Hermes. Yes, I have caught Scarflet Fever,  a seriously bad dose...

Now, it's not all glamour round here, no, we also nurture ourselves intellectually and culturally:  I have a met a lovely lady while dog walking, she also has a Border Terrier, Maggie (she views Monty with cautious disdain, as he rolls in unspeakable substances or steals other dogs' toys).  Here is a visual of Monty and Maggie, he has a wolfish Jack Nicholson grin as he has finally managed to lure a girl back to his place:

Maggie's owner is not only a Border terrier wrangler, a practising psychologist and mother of two boys but also a newly published author of a thriller.  How impressive is that?  I have read it and it is fab, it had me totally gripped:

Scene  - the kitchen, one night, late
Mr B: What are these meatballs doing here?
Me: (head in book, totally absorbed) They are de-frosting
Mr B (sounding anxious): So shall I just leave them there?
Me: Mmmm, what ? yes.
 Mr B:  (hovering) But will they be ok, they are not in the fridge?
Me: (in ever so slightly exasperated tone): Yeah, they'll be fine
Mr B: But ....
Me: THEY ARE DEFROSTING LEAVE ME ALONE !!!!! UNLESS YOU WANT TO SEEK MEDICAL HELP TO REMOVE MEATBALLS FROM..
Mr B: ok, ok, I was only asking..

Yes, it's the sort of book you can't stop reading, and any interruptions cause resentment possibly followed by violence..

As a bonus, the thriller is partly set in our corner of the world in Buckinghamshire and there is even a passing shout-out to our local Tesco, what more can one want?

Now, to celebrate  compensate for my return to blogging, I am proposing a GIVEAWAY of a SIGNED copy of this book.  All you need to do is
 a) follow my blog and
 b) leave a comment below headed GIVE ME A FREE BOOK, telling me your most recent high glamour moment (either real glamour or my version of "dog wee under fridge"glamour).

All "entries" for the book giveaway should be made by 30 June, I will then write names of all entrants on pieces of paper and see which piece Monty dog tries to eat....that's definitely fair! Of course, if he manages to eat the paper completely we may have to wait a day or so before we get the result...anyone disputing the judge's decision can come and examine the results themselves.

Right, there are strange noises coming from the kitchen, think Monty Dog might be making further improvements to the kitchen floor.


* Pretentious, comme toujours
** Monty Dog ate chunks of the original floor

It was not me...also I appear to have turned into an Ewok thingie from Star Wars

Re-blog

I think I am coming back....soon.

As an independent woman of today I miss blogging, plus my mother (Grandma Whacker) said I had to.

The blog is a handy way for Grandma Whacker to keep track of our antics from her control centre in HomePerm* Towers.





There will be lots of this.

 

 

 

And not so much of this

(cos we is grown up now so it is not cool to be on the old relic's blog, plus our idea of the great outdoors is opening the window while on the Xbox)



And maybe a bit of this too

From MaitTai's blog, I am the one grinning with all my teeth

Plus I may just do one of those giveaway thingies that was all cutting edge in blog world about 5 years ago...



*That should get me grounded for a week. 

Woof woof?

Dahlings, how are you?  Anyone left out there? It's been so long!

But I have a great excuse. 

Remember I wanted to get one of these.

Well, I went and got one of these.

Meet Monty B, Official Dog of the Blighty Blog.


He's a Border Terror  Terrier and his full name is Montmorency de Monfort de Montalbano de Naughty Pants (ok, no it's not, it's just we all enjoy elaborating on his name as none of us can agree what Monty stands for, that's the problem with naming by committee;  I wanted to call him something soppy like Ambrose or Quentin, while the boys favoured Killer or Poop, so Mr B set up a committee and a working party and a compromise name was hammered out...)


Monty and me have been going to puppy training classes, first we did Puppy Pre-School where we got out paws stuck in our collar and our lead tangled round the chair;  then we graduated to Puppy Primary where we ate a lot of sausage and lay in the grass with our legs in the air.  I know, I am a disgrace, at least Monty was well behaved...

The puppy training lady told us it was VITAL to socialise. 

So I did what she said and went to Ascot.

In the distance is the Queen, in blue, giving out a prize

Also I went to the Capital Radio Summertime Ball at Wembley. Saw Justin Timberlake and Taylor Swift, among others.

Sat next to these young men.  And felt old.

And I went to lunch during the Festival of Fuchsia at Balthazar in Covent Garden, London, where I saw not only FF but also Janet from Gardener's Cottage, Tabitha from Bourbon and Pearls and Romy . 

OK, so maybe it was the dog who was meant to be seeing new people and places....but at least I am well socialised ...I hardly ever bite the postman's legs now.


Must go, got a bicycle to chase.

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...