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It’s only Alamo Day if you live in Texas so don’t worry about it.
Just because the Concise Oxford Dictionary says that I am a ‘withered old woman’ if I call myself a crone doesn’t make me one.
I’m taking back the language of my foremothers. I like the idea of being a crone, a hag, a harridan, a matriarch. Why not? If I can’t laugh at my three score years and three then I need my bottom smacking.
It’s Tuesday 6th of March and the bin-men emptied the bin all of their own accord. I forgot to put it out last night. something I am going to have to remember over the next three months since the old git will be in Northampton, and as helpful as he is a three and a half hour journey to put out the rubbish is just a little too much doncha think?

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It has been twelve days since writing this blog as I have been utterly rushed off my feet.
I tried to re-write the 12 days of Christmas but by the time I got to ‘3 Fur lined Gloves’, and ‘5 cell phone rings’ I gave up.
On Christmas Eve I did a four hour show for the Beeb. Georgio Locatelli and James Corrigan brought in so much food and drink by the time I got to Charing Cross my goose was aready cooked.
I arrived home just in time to eat B’s Christmas Eve meal and hear the news that my German girlfriend had missed her plane on account of the bottle of wine she had imbibed on her own, she overslept and missed the flight from Hamburg.
There was one mouth less to feed.
Christmas day was less wrapping paper than normal and more Champagne than usual.
From Boxing day until today I have been working. A quiet office, a team of dedicated radioheads and an audience who have bothered to call in despite their dyspeptic stomachs.
The Christmas tree started out all green and piney and ended up looking all grey and spindley. There with more needles on the floor than an arboretum in Berkshire. We chucked it out two days after christmas.
Gods Gift drove us up for New Years Eve, we stayed in The Charlotte Street hotel as the Beeb couldn’t find us a bed for the night. The Holiday Inns and Travel Lodges had single beds and mould whilst the Charlotte Street Hotel had a double bed and fresh apples in the foyer.
I sent the ‘oosbind off last night as I was so tired and the rain was coming down in arcloads.
I watched Sherlock Holmes and Ab Fab and fell asleep after room service had brought me up a bowl of soup, three slices of bread and a bill for twenty quid.
The show today was the longest three hours of 2012 and the train ride home bumpy.
I left my bag on the train seat until a lovely young man handed it to me and told me it was the second time he had rescued an old dame in distress.
I had some delicious folk on the show from Jasmine Birtles who teaches in a Sunday School and helps people out with their financial woes.
I had Susie Pearl on and her yellow and pink, tourquoise and orange book:’INSTRUCTIONS FOR HAPPINESS AND SUCCESS’ which had me hyperventilating into my camomile tea.
I had the brothers CAINER on DAN and JONATHAN, who spoke and sung about the year that was and the year that will be. Jonathan Cainer told us to look out for VENUS which will swing pass the SUN on JUNE 6th of this year. Making it auspicious.

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I’ve spent all day collating years worth of writings. The memoir now has at least nine different titles.
The job is putting it all together then sending it off to my agent, writing more bits and editing what I have.
It’s 8.10 and my eyes feel like brussels sprouts that have been overboiled. It’s all that looking at the screen and trying not to be tooooo self critical.

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I cannot lie after two rums – with fruit juice – I am utterly unnecessary.
The Pacific Ocean is calm athough the rain continues to come down in buckets, then spades and now in splishes and sploshes.
I resorted to trousers, B’s socks, a t-shirt and a big sweater, The old git put on his holiday jumper, and the child put on a thick cardigan that made it feel like we were on vacation in the Alps. We are all sitting round the big table, the candles are lit, the crickets are chirping, the waves are lapping, and the chicken is marinating.
There is a full moon tonight at 9.36 so I am reliably informed by Freddie, our man from the hood, that after this moon summer begins…..I bleedin’ well hope so, I haven’t travelled 5,000 miles to sit in damp clothes whilst the howling monkeys bellow for some sunshine, we could have stayed in Blighty. Okay there aren’t any monkeys in England, alright only the ones in Westminster,.,.,

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Walked through Battersea Park this morning, the air was as crisp as a newly baked roll. The sky peeked through the sycamore trees and I felt energised. It was like walking through Prospect Park West in Brooklyn.
Got to work in time for a chat and a cuppa, did the show then set off to North London for a healing from Seka Nikolic.

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Dear Brighton Belles, so you want more puns in South Africa eh?
Well I’ll do my very wildebest – is that good enough?
Andy, I am not publishing your comment about me and scaremongering and the MMR debate because reading between your lines you want to start a fight and I’m not interested in having a nasty verbal spat with you. If you want to talk to me then do it respectfully or not at all. If you can’t tell the difference between real debate and argumentative sniping I suggest you go and ask somebody clever like Stephen Fry to teach you how to do it….
To Marmite and all my old bloggers it’s lovely that you are still bothering, to my new bloggers – well here goes:

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