Spong

Ah spong! It's a fabulously evocative new word to add to my vast and pretentious vocabulary, thanks to The Lovely Lettuce: read about it in her evocative treatise here.

Everybody suffers from spong of some sort. It is insidious and forms mysteriously. I urge you to find out more. Perhaps we can band together to fight this scourge.

Ponder This

Am I being horribly ageist and intolerant, or would the sight of a wizened old crone sweet little old lady energetically picking her nose while seated in the back of a taxi have turned your stomach too?

It's My Birthday And I'll Cry If I Want To

Thank you for your kind wishes. It was in fact the saddest and loneliest birthday I've ever had, with kids and hub away on holiday (he forgot again) and nobody spoiling me rotten on the day, apart from good old Mum and Dad with postal goodies.

So it was just me and the budgies and the hamster, watching telly and sipping champagne! The budgies got legless, but the hamster particularly enjoyed my drunken singing. I managed to dance my way to bed without too much difficulty.

But don't be sad for me! I'm postponing my official birthday celebrations until Friday, with the arrival of an Extra Special Super Duper Mystery Surprise Guest, whom I will meet at the airport. I'll just be hanging around the airport for no particular reason, and Special Guest will surprise me! A weekend of intense ribaldry, decadence and surprises is in sight.

Please Send Flowers and Sympathy

Aged 9
Heavily into coquetry.



Aged 13
Heavily into hard drugs.



Aged 16
Heavily into eyeliner and dangly earrings.




Aged 18
Heavily into plastic clothes and high heels.



Aged 21
Heavily into beer.




Aged 31
Just heavy.




Aged 41
Just kidding!

The face of 42.




There’s a lot to be said for conservative dress and sensible footwear.

Annual Birthday Débacle Imminent

He's going to forget my birthday again ....


.... I can feel it in my soon to be 42 year old bones.

Hell hath no fury, like a woman birthdaily scorned (again).


I wonder what antics I can pull this year, to express my displeasure, and win the sympathy of my millions of fans around the globe?

Bah! Humbugtine's Day

He brought me three endives from the supermarket so I could make chicory, walnut and garlic salad for dinner.

Chub

The chub-o-meter went so far in the wrong direction that it exploded and I had to remove it from the blog entirely.

I knew there was a good reason for not consuming six Ferrero Rochers after dinner every night. My jeans are so tight they have altered my gait. (Stella, that means I walk funny, before you crack a joke about me being an awkward git).

The bosoms are nicely rounded though, which is a considerable consolation.

Annual Valentine's Débâcle Imminent

Now begins my one-woman campaign, nay crusade, to alert Mr Evil Blackheart to the surprising, yet utterly regular occurrence of Valentine's Day. In the hopes of sparing the poor lamb his annual surprise and shock of the manifestation of Valentine's Day ON THE FOURTEENTH AND NOT THE FIFTEENTH OF FEBRUARY, I am buttering him up.

Literally.

So far I have performed The Ode to Bryan. I don't want to have to explain it all over again, so you'll have to read about it here.

In fact, a long-lost cinematic tutorial of this manoeuvre does exist. It was filmed by The Lovely Ms. Mac, features a giant courgette and my own fair hands. However the censors have deemed it just a tad too racy for pubic consumption. Or even for public consumption. You'll have to use your imaginations. Or perhaps I will describe it in an audio post.

Warning: Nasty Bodily Fluids Ahead!

The unpleasant consequence of a week-long attack of Runny Nose Syndrome is that whenever I laugh, gasp or cough, a veritable cascade of phlegm pours forth from my lungs. I do hope you are not reading this over breakfast! Sorry!

I felt so repulsed by my own bodily functions on my way to work this morning, that I attempted to wittily and elegantly paraphrase Samuel Taylor Coleridge in The Rime of the Ancient Mariner.

(Water, water, every where,
And all the boards did shrink ;
Water, water, every where,
Nor any drop to drink.)

Sadly all I could come up with was:

"Phlegm, phlegm everyhere... I wish it would bugger off".

So obviously coffee is needed before I attempt any more Lyrical Ballads so early in the morning.

Doldrums...

My flashes of blogging brilliance have become few and far between. I fear I'm suffering a crisis of confidence. I look back over my archives and think 'Ninety percent of this is a huge, steaming mound of pretentious bullshit.'

Even The Lovely Ms. Mac, my usual muse, has failed to provoke much inspiration in me lately. I'm not blaming you Stella, but.... what's happend to my sense of humour?

However, this nasty post caught my eye today and I just had to share it with you. As you know, I am not at all obsessed with bottoms or poo. But I must say, the finest euphemism for anus I have ever seen would have to be dirt star. Isn't that just lovely? Isn't it simply adorable? I love it! But my interest in the subject is not unhealthy, I assure you.

My interest in the subject is purely academic. I'm passionately interested in words, you see. I'm really not fixated on bottoms, excrement or genitalia. NOT AT ALL! And I'm not protesting too much either!