Christmas day was full of ice
Sunday day was drippy
Boxing day was full of fog
And yesterday was slippy
The Christmas tree is leaking pine
The mistletoe has wilted
The Christmas cake is but a crumb
And the stilton all but stilted.
Month: December 2010
a stolen moment.
Boxing day, Sunday the day after the one before. HAPPY FESTIVITIES to you all. I shall write a proper blog when there’s a reduction of bodies in the house. If you are ill, get well soon. If you are full; stop eating If you are drunk; enuff already. If you are lonely, I hope we … Read more
Bah Humbug.
First I took a homeopathic remedy. Then after a pause I sucked a Strepsil then after a pause I drunk a Lemsip then after a pause I rubbed something with Olbas oil in on my chest.
Then I started all over again.
At 19.00 hours, when ‘Strictly’ had just begun I lay my hands on a piece of paper with a facsimile of Seka Nikolic’s hands on, meditated until after the first dance, and when my hands were really hot and my chest didn’t feel quite so crusty I blew out my three candles.
True something that rhymes with Grit
Brrrrr I jumped in a taxi in Leicester Square. The roads were practically empty.
Went to see TRUE GRIT, the COEN BROTHERS new film with JEFF BRIDGES and the most irritating young actress I have seen in years.
Mr. Bridges, who is one of my favourites, was unintelligable whilst the young actress was even worse.
I left leaving a dear friend in the dark at the Covent Garden Hotel.
Socially networking
I had a big blue scarf jobby wrapped round my head and neck, gloves and socks so that my extremities were all toasty warm. By the time I got to the Kings Road I had removed my scarf, rolled up my gloves into a ball but left my socks on.
ROCOCO CHOCOLATE SHOP first browse, hand made chocs that look like asparagus or pebbles or lips. Very expensive but the perfect gift for the chocoholics in your life. I used to know one of the serving wenches, a daughter of GFL contributors, now its a mixed race American geezer with a good shaped head and a neurotic turn of phrase and a Swiss milky skinned maid.
A mooch in WILDE ONES, one of my favourite shops anywhere, more Native American turquoise than you can shoot an arrow at, plus all kinds of esoteric gew-gaws for reading, striking and smelling.
Then AFTER NOAH which is full of retro clocks, telephones and toys and boxes of games and rarified object d’art that are meant for the arty objects of desire in your life.
Next stop, walking down the right hand side of the street, was LUSH I dived into the soapy displays and swapped five empty pots for one little pot of goo – for aging skin, and then. crossing over in the rain, my final destination JOHN LEWIS where they wont knowingly rip you off, yeah and pigs might fly….
Romper, jump, whatever
I’m square eyed.
Been in front of the pooter all day trying to write a treatment.
I think I’ve done it.
I need to show it to THE BARRY before I break open the lemon juice.
Patronising Pickles
Thank you all for your embraceable comments. It really is like getting a distant hug.
I’m on to my second mug of lemon water. I’ve juiced two halves separately and am drinking it between avocados, herbal supplements and meditation.
The flat is empty, the old git on the way to ‘The Arcola’ and the roomie on her way to Surbiton.
He’s just called. The bus was late, there was a hold up at the tube a signal failure at Kings Cross so now he’s in the back of a cab at Liverpool Street. I hate this Government, they invest in nothing but themselves.
The new Arcola Theatre is in an old paint factory, round the corner from the old Arcola which was a shirt factor. A play has been commissioned by Rebecca Lenkiewicz about William Turner because he purchased his paints from the very factory that the ‘oosbind is trying to get to.
Turner is being payed by TOBY JONES – look him up you’ll know him immediately – whilst Will’s dad is being played by B’s dad.
Yes the old git gets to practice his parenting skills in front of an audience of millions, ok thousands, alright hundreds, well definitely me and the family.
Announcement.
The reason I am writing this today is to tell you, hold on a minute I just want to tell you about ‘ROLANDAS’ the best clothes shop in town. Battersea Square, Sheila, who looks like a model, growls like a panther and chooses clothes that make me drool like a baby, kitted me out for my photo shoot tomorrow.
Enough with the similies already although I do feel I might explode with energy.
It’s that friggin’ Barry bloke, never sleeps, wakes me with ideas, picks up the phone when I have a brainstorm and still won’t explain what will happen when I hit the airwaves although,
Gandhi thighs
On Friday The Barry and I will be filming the second bit of our new thingy that we’ll be putting on the whatsit when the doodah is ready.
Today I caught up on all the things I couldn’t do because of the snow, laziness, funerals and the like.
I climbed out of my two fluffy duvets when Jim left for the Arcola. He was wrapped up like a gnome, kissed me goodbye and set off for the 170.
I jumped out of bed, even though it was a nest of cosiness, just in case Lozzie locked me in. Lozzie, however, is not like the last girl who had about as much thought for her fellow roomies as a dead mouse.
From Bushey to Battersea
I drove to Boreham Wood and collected my mother. I used Dan the Man, my lovely nephew as Sat Nav.
It took hardly 25 minutes to get to the Jewish Cemetery in Bushey.
I parked the Jacmobil in a disabled bay, my mother assuring me that the Jews were really understanding and since she had left her badge at home and couldn’t walk very far anyway it was a legitimate park.