A warning for Jean Jones, this entry may contain material that will excite you. If you feel yourself salivating with envy just click away from the page…..
I don’t know whether to work forward or backwards, I don’t know whether to include the grizzly bits about my mother and the wretched bits about my darling girl friend who died unexpectedly, or whether I should just tell you the bits of my week that made me feel so energised I didn’t sleep. I don’t know whether to include the back pain, the watering eye, the missing of the ‘oosbind, or the tragedy thats called THE VOICE.
On reflection I shall just write the good bits so here goes:
Month: April 2012
To Adrian
Dear Adrian how could I forget you, I still have your little beaded gifts from The Taj Mahal in my bedroom.
Theobromine and more….
Easter doesn’t really mean anything to me as a festival, although I do like the idea that shops must shut on Easter Sunday. And its lovely having Gods Gift and the dawter home for four days.
I went to work this morning. Although calling my three hour shift at BBC LONDON work is not quite accurate as we have such a good time.
I listen to Aled Jones on the way in and join in with as many songs as I can. I also try and remember them in order. This morning I got as far as Bette Midler and a choral thing about birds. Then I drifted off. Not a great idea since I was driving at the time. There were about thirteen toons so my memory is getting better. Little exercises that keep my brain trim.
A massive apology to Lindy and all my bloggers who listen in on a Sunday morning.
I have no control over the change of my musical bed, we all have to use the funny little musical sting that sounds like breakfast telly from 1982. Edmundo Ross was retired. I cried, you cried we all cried. I loved my ‘Moulin Rouge’, I loved what it made me feel like but the powers that be have made an executive decision so thats that.
Lets keep our fingers crossed that Edmundo will be back strutting his stuff sometime soon.
Just don’t abandon me that’s all I ask.
Easter
One week before Easter. No Easter Eggs. No Simnel cake No chocolate bunnies. No Passover parties. No guests BUT The old man is back from Northampton. So we’ll be quibbling, nibbling and dribbling. Thats what happens when you get as old as Sir Tom Jones, although I imagine he has staff to help with the … Read more