Tuesday, 29 July 2008

A Proper Miss Smarty-Pants

I thought I was dead clever on Friday morning with the word 'Preserve': so perfectly relevant for the subject matter. I was hung over and originally I couldn't remember the phrase . . . I started off with: 'Beauty counters are no longer the prevalence . . . ', I realised this wasn't quite right and flicked through the dictionary. I thought it was 'reserve' and then of course 'preserve' popped into my head. I looked it up and because I was still so pissed I became overawed by its meaning within the context that I was using it. Dozy cow. Someone slap me . . . or better still . . . give me a puncture . . .

I think I love Kevin Bishop.
Right now, a pigeon is staring at me.

Friday, 25 July 2008


Of course it's a huge marketing ploy - telling women that they can still look 30 even though they're pushing 60. The beauty industry is big business . . . they don't want us to zip up our purses just because we've got 40 candles on the birthday cake . . . I know this, but I still buy into it. The beauty counter is no longer the *preserve of the very young.
Changing the subject slightly: Apparently I should be deeply ashamed of myself and I was old enough to be his mother. All I can say in my defence is that perhaps all these lotions and potions work after all! Sorry.

*Preserve noun 1 a preparation, e.g. a jam or jelly, consisting of fruit preserved by cooking whole or in pieces with sugar. 2 an area restricted for the preservation of natural resources, e.g. animals or trees, esp one used for regulated hunting or fishing. 3 something, e.g. a sphere of activity, reserved for certain people.

Thursday, 24 July 2008

She Looks Fab . . . But . . .

Helen Mirren, 62, has been caught on camera wearing nothing more than a bikini. She looks fab and probably has better muscle definition than many women half her age . . . but Helen . . . please put your clothes back on. I'm nearing 40 and as I get older I'm looking forward to letting go of my high maintenance lifestyle. By the time I hit 60 I want bikini's to be a distant, though happy memory. I want to be thinking about doughnuts, chocolate and cheesecake. Oh come on Helen, give a girl a break. When will I now be old enough not to look 'hot' in a bikini? When will I be old enough to eat again? I was looking forward to watching it all go south, perhaps take up smoking and indulge myself in lengthy knitting sessions whilst watching endless repeats of 'Frost' on UK Gold. I had it all worked out. But no, it's not to be, apparently at the age of 60 I'm still going to be expected to look 'hot' in a bikini. Bollocks.
I have chronic PMT and my tits hurt.

Well, that was all a bit girly . . . .

Friday, 18 July 2008

And . . .

Today's Independent asks: 'Is Google making us stupid? - As we surf, search and skim across the great databases of the internet, are we eroding our ability to concentrate and read deeply? In a polemic that has ignited fierce debate across the blogosphere, Nicholas Carr argues that the web is rewiring our neural circuitry - and not for the better.'

Think I'd better go and read this article then. From my own experience, I think the internet has made me more stupid. I'm very good at skim reading and pulling out relevant information, but I do worry about the time I spend reading junk . . . I worry about the time I spend writing junk . . . I suppose blogs are like fast food, they're instant fixes, but they're not wholesome or nourishing, not in the way that a good book is.

I only write short posts because I know that blog readers don't really concentrate.

Donkey Punch

In The Evening Standard 15/07/08, director of Donkey Punch, Olly Blackburn is quoted as saying: 'It is meant to be a provocative film, to deal with things you wouldn't talk about at a dinner party.' Mr Blackburn ought to be careful what he says. His Dad is a property lawyer and his Mum is an art curator. So Mr Blackburn is a middle Englander who goes to dinner parties with people he doesn't feel comfortable being himself with? Well, all this repression has driven him to make 'Donkey Punch'. It's described as being pretty nasty with unlikable characters. I wonder if it's going to live up to all the hype, or is Mr Blackburn going to turn out to be just another posh boy trying to be edgy and controversial?

And who goes to Dinner Parties? What is a Dinner Party? Tut.

Tuesday, 15 July 2008

Fortune Told

Well, that was an interesting weekend. I did my bit as 'Madam Ga-Ga' at Aunt Avril's village fete. Weather was a bit dull but it was still a large turn out . . . I did a roaring trade. I did specify that I knew bugger all about reading the Tarot cards; it was all for fun and entertainment, but my customers insisted on applying my readings to some very personal stories. I was quite touched that they were able to tell me their problems . . . and they wanted me to tell them what to do . . . I felt such a fraud . . . I had emphasised that I wasn't genuine. That's the cards though. They're designed in such a way that they're guarrenteed to fit with some burning life issue. They're clever like that. Most of my friends, I think, would fall about laughing at the idea of me giving advice about love, luck, money and work . . . considering my track record . . . but I guess I must be good at bullshit?!

Towards the end of the day it became more light hearted and I had a tent full of schoolboys. I wonder why?

Friday, 11 July 2008


Not only is the house flying . . . but it's eating flesh as well . . . I had this stupid vision in my head all day yesterday. I wonder why?

I think I'm busy, so have a good day and beware low flying flesh eating bungalows . . .

Oh, I'm still on the look out for obscure quirky blogs, languishing undiscovered down the back of the internet. I still haven't found anything half as interesting as 'Tartania' though . . . but I am looking.

Wednesday, 9 July 2008

Warning: Flesh Eating House Flies

My mum recently complained of being bitten by a house fly. She's getting on a bit now so I didn't take much notice. I mean, house flies don't bite, do they? Well yes, the new improved house fly does bite. I got bitten on Saturday. It felt like a pin prick, barely perceptable, but it made me look down and I caught sight of a fly taking a lump out of my leg. They didn't used to bite, did they? When did they develop teeth and a liking for living flesh? Anyhow, I'd just seen 'Cloverfield' on DVD and I wondered if government scientists had failed miserably in their attempts to produce a mutant monster weapon of mass destruction, capable of ripping the seams out of cities, and had instead only managed to genetically alter a house fly into giving you a bit of a nip . . .

Well it's possible . . . probably cost millions . . . if anybody has had a strange experience with a house fly, then please let me know.

By the way: 'Cloverfield' - All style over substance.

I've got to practise the Tarot cards for Saturday. Will tell all on Monday.

Credit Crunch

Newspaper headlines warn of bleak times ahead: job losses, the price of food and fuel going up, house prices going down, knife crime, and it's not going to stop raining this summer. Crikey, I feel like I should be speaking in a clipped black n'white BBC accent and providing a list of money saving and mood lifting tips. Time to tighten belts; embrace charity shop chic and start sharing the bath water . . . . or shower with a friend. Time to get an allotment, grow your own spuds, rent out a room, and start shopping at Lidl. One thing I do know though, is how to make an attractive outfit from nothing more than a plain hessian sack [as opposed to a fancy one], shoe polish, a careful selection of perforated bottle tops and a ribbed condom. Who needs designer frocks? Eat your heart out Gok Wan; I am the mistress of thrift. Trust me . . . it'll look good . . .

Oh, what do I know? I'm a blow-up doll . . .

Tuesday, 8 July 2008

Well, Thanks for that . . .

Thanks Patsy, for pointing out that the photograph I'm using for the Scarlet Blue blogspot looks . . . . . well, it looks like the image of a permanently perplexed blow-up doll . . . deep in concentration . . . . cheers Pats for that witty observation . . .

Monday, 7 July 2008

Am I Really?

It has been suggested that I go on a 'How to be Nice' course if I'm ever to find a new boyfriend. Apparently I can no longer afford to rely on looks alone; I'm going to need an attractive personality now that I'm 'aging'. Thanks Mum. I'm not that horrible. Am I? If anybody knows of any 'How to be Nice' courses, then do please let me know.

Anyhow, changing the subject to something I posted about last week; I found this quote in The Independent:

'The reasonable man adapts himself to the world; the unreasonable one persists in trying to adapt the world to himself'' - George Bernard Shaw

See, someone should have pointed this out to the marketing folk at Vauxhall . .

And before I forget: No, I haven't been watching Big Brother; it's the biggest load of banal tosh on telly . . . but when I do vaguely catch a glimpse of it . . . that bloke Dale always looks like a perplexed blow-up doll deep in concentration . . .

I will be nice tomorrow.

Friday, 4 July 2008

Rotten Day

Had some bad news yesterday, so feeling pretty rotten.

However, I have been asked to 'mentor' a young writer. I was looking forward to this because he's very bright and very funny . . .

Right, to cut a long story short . . . I do not want to read about a character who is blessed with 'piercing blue eyes', who is constantly having his 'nostrils invaded' by terrible smells and lives in an 'ordinary pebble-dashed semi' . . . ever again.
I want a character with a lazy watery eye . . . whose nostrils are so frazzled from drug abuse that they've fallen off . . . and for the hell of it . . . lives secretly under the floorboards in Buckingham Palace eating scraps originally thrown down for the corgis. Perhaps I'm not serious, but you get my drift . . .

Writing sarcastic snippets like this cheers me up when life is being a shit.

Wednesday, 2 July 2008

Deodorant Bottles

I don't think I'm overly impressed with my new aerodynamic deodorant bottle. Unilever brands such as 'Sure' and 'Dove' [it's probably all the same pore clogging gloop], have been turned upside down [genius] in an effort to keep their balls rolling.
But my ball is still drying up. It still needs to be rolled with my fingers to get it going properly. And I don't like the way the bottle tapers and goes all thin. I want something bigger and thicker. Something I can get a firm grip of. There should be some kind of pump action delivery system . . . . I want bigger balls . .

Should I write to Unilever and complain?

Tuesday, 1 July 2008

What was I saying?

Whatever it was, Peter York will always say it better.


He also wrote about 'anti-style' in Saturday's Independent. I think I've always been 'anti-style', but I just call it 'being poor'. I like Peter York. He has regular slots in The Independent and he always makes me smile.