Reviewing Guffaws

Whilst I may be proud of my review of my hated printer, I have not managed to be as brilliant as these reviews of Amazon products...

Sugar Free Haribo Gummi Bears - as a warning, I am still nursing the aches from my guffaws at this one, I actually cried with laughter. Real tears! 

Kleenex Tissues. And you thought it was impossible to review tissues!

Veet for Men Hair Removal Gel Creme. I made some noises that can only be referred to as 'snortfaws', I have successfully managed to splice a snort with a guffaw.

Hutzler 571 Banana Slicer. So I may not have snortfawed but I was tickled!

Novelty Toaster. I'm not entirely sure if this one should have a NSFW rating....

Baker & Chefs Chocolate Pudding. I probably just enjoy The Walking Dead in-joke, because I'm a big kid.

For a wealth of delightfully funny Amazon reviews, you should also amble over here to tumblr.

Unparalleled Loathing

The title up there? That's the same title as one I just used for a review of a product on Amazon.
The product in question: my Epson Stylus S22.

Click the link to see the review, but if you don't feel like a click, I'm just going to copy & paste it here, so you can enjoy my ire.

Thus, my review:
I loathe this printer with so much venom it's not even normal.
You must be very precise in the amount sheets you put in the paper feed, one more than it likes and it'll jam, one less and it'll jam.
Unfortunately, the precise amount it wants changes with every use. This printer is the epitome of fickle.
You will have thoughts of violence that you didn't believe you were capable of.
But then, when you've spent the best part of an hour trying to print half a dozen documents, it's to be expected.
Print quality? Ha!
It'll slap a few gaps into the printing, you'll go off and clean the print heads and then you'll realise this was a foolish errand as it has now swallowed all the ink remaining in your cartridge.
Oh, and if you thought you might try a compatible cartridge instead of remortgaging your life to purchase a genuine Epson cartridge? Well more fool you, because Epson have jolly well outfoxed you there too. It'll just flat out refuse to do a damn thing.
And there's more...so you want to print a document, entirely with black ink, but you've run out of magenta ink? Well, frankly, at this point it sucks to be you, because if any one cartridge runs out, you will not be able to print a single thing. Nothing. Full stop. Actually, not even a full stop.
But I want to print in black you say, not magenta! I don't need your magenta! Tough doo-doo! No printing for you my dear.
If I lived in a fictional world where I had accrued enemies, I might actually foist this upon them, but not even a Bond villain actually deserves to be tortured with this atrocity.
Shame on you Epson!

Just to be clear, I really don't like this printer. At all.

I Used To Believe

I spend time over on I Used To Believe now and then.
It entertains me to know I wasn't the only one that believed in things that only seem odd now I'm an adult.

I used to believe that Dr Dolittle was true. I wanted Rex Harrison to be able to talk to the animals.
When his parrot, Polynesia, told him that you shook your leg at a pig to say hello, I believed. I shook my leg at pigs. Although, I don't ever remember telling anyone I was doing that. I either wasn't entirely sure it was true or was aiming for a private conversation. Either way, I was very upset to realise it wasn't true.

A friend of mine was told by her parents that if she waved at a plane flying overhead and the lights on it blinked, it meant that they had seen her and were waving back in their own way.

Thanks to the X-Files, I believed that the bogeyman would inhabit your teddy bear if it fell to the floor in the night, then if you were to lean out of bed to bring your bear back into bed, the bogeyman would grab you and be off with you.
As a result, I still can't sleep with any of my limbs hanging over the edge of the bed. Damn bogeyman.

So, you know you have to... what did you once believe?

Psychopath

Some time ago, a friend of mine put this question to me and I didn't hesitate with the answer, which apparently makes me a psychopath. But don't be afraid.
Maybe I just have a brain that works laterally.
Or maybe I'm a psychopath.
If I am, I'm a gentle one. If such a thing exists?
Anyway, I babble. As usual. Here is the question:

This is a story about a girl.
While at the funeral of her own mother, she met a guy whom she did not know. She thought this guy was amazing, so much the dream guy that she was searching for that she fell in love with him immediately.
However, she never asked for his name or number and afterward could not find anyone who knew who he was.
A few days later the girl killed her own sister.

Question: Why did she kill her sister?

First, find your own answer to this question.

Then, check out this link for the answer.

Naturally, you have to let me know if you're a psychopath or not... I have to know if I'm in good company. Or bad company. Whichever.
So, leave me a note in the comments... go for it.
Are you a psychopath?

Bad Taste

The sun is shining, it's perfect for sitting in the garden.
You go to hang out your washing in the lovely Spring air, only to realise that this is the time of year that some people need to show everyone else in the neighbourhood exactly how bad their taste in music is.
For some reason they are never playing anything that you enjoy listening to, or in fact judging by the reaction of other neighbours, that those people enjoy listening to either.
But these folks with bad taste in music persevere. They must let the world know that their thinking remains inside the box and if it hasn't been on an Ibiza album, well then, it's just not worth listening to.
Why do they never see the sunshine and think that maybe they'll go for a bit of blues. I'd be happy to wander into my garden and hear my neighbours playing a bit of Eric Bibb, maybe some Keb Mo, although if I came out and they were playing the Levellers I'd be super happy (and likely to be leaping around).
To be fair, I live in a peaceful little village, I do love it here. The only downside is the mongrel that bought a little house to renovate very near by.
He's upset everyone in our little patch.
His delivery lorries have managed to hit my Sky dish three times, which I'm overjoyed about.
As for the utter mess he's created. Broken panes of glass stick up vertically from the ground, just begging for a big jugular accident.
And today he's playing goodness knows what rubbish which blares beautifully into my garden.
I'm beginning to loathe him. Deeply.
It's quite a considerate neighbourhood. The most noise you tend to hear is the sound of lawn mowers or a bit of DIY, none of which you ever mind, they're the sounds of summer!
Anyway, his house is still empty, still undergoing renovation, the surrounding area of building site slowly encroaching onto everyone else's space. Rumour has it he plans to live there himself when it's finally completed. I hope not. I sincerely hope we get someone with a good taste in music.

For The Love Of Words

And the love of timewasting.

I keep finding myself going back to WordCount. I find it absolutely fascinating.
I was interested to see that vegetarian is more commonly used than carnivore and in fact omnivore doesn't feature at all, which surprised me.
I started to challenge myself to then find more words which didn't feature.
Bathykolpian doesn't which is not really surprising, but it is one of my favourite words that I use to describe myself.
My favourite word is tegulated. I'm not sure why, it's not even something I can easily slip into conversation, but I just like the way it sounds and feels in my mouth. I'm weird that way.
It interests me also that 'he' is ranked in 15th place and 'she' is in 30th.
I searched for the 1975th ranked word, because that's the year I was born, and the word was 'attractive'. I thank you!

Go play, then come back and tell me where your favourite word is ranked... actually, what IS your favourite word?

PS: I just randomly clicked to see what word would appear and in 44,851 place is the word 'kpnlf'. What in the hell is that?

A Lot To Say

I'm feeling in an organised sort of mood today so I'm putting my thoughts out there in an organised manner. Tomorrow I'll be back to flitting, hell it might be this afternoon. I'm an unpredictable sort.

So:

1. Mum and Tim are in New Zealand. They're vacationing. And they're blogging it here. Just to make sure you feel the envy. Although, the sun is shining and the sky is blue here. It's just that if you were to try flip-flops you'd risk frostbite. Damn it.
2. I'm going to a ceilidh tonight. I've never been or seen a ceilidh where there hasn't also been an injury. To date the injured person has not been me, which in itself is a minor miracle, so I'm wondering if my time has come.
3. I went in a chatroom last week, for the first time in years and years. I'm regularly complaining about the world of txtspk, I do loathe it so, but anyway, so there I am in the chatroom, receiving a few private messages. To be honest, over the course of the evening I probably had about 30 guys contact me to say hello. No wait, with just a couple of exceptions they contacted me to say ASL. Some of them didn't bother to say hello. Just straight in there with the Age/Sex/Location. Personally I'd have thought that the 'Lady' part of the moniker I was using would have given the middle part of that set of questions away. But it seems not. I pointed out that I thought it was generally considered bad manners to ask a lady her age, to which one responded that he had to check I wasn't underage. Which is a fair point, but it doesn't really excuse it, unless he also believes that each and every person on the planet tells the truth all the time. Hmm, I think not. Seriously though, what's up with that? No small talk? No, Hi, how are you, have you had a good day? Do they approach people in the real world and say "How old are you, are you really a chick and where do you live?" No, they would get short shrift. (I just looked up shrift and it wasn't a definition I expected). There's something about the 'virtual world' that makes people feel they can be less polite, that it's ok to just say "Hi, what are you wearing?" It's weird, because real world or virtual world, I'm not telling someone I don't know the colour of my underwear. I guess I'm just old-fashioned.
4. Or not. I did go and get another tattoo after all. I am having difficulties obtaining a photograph. I used an assistant last night and his photographic abilities sucked. I have been outskilled in the blurry photo ability. On the upside, I do love my tattoo, which is a bonus really as it's never going away!
5. I have a question about smelly people. Why do they always stand so close to you? I like my personal space, I do, I hate it when you're in a queue and they're almost pressed against you, but when they also smell bad it's just dreadful. The other day I stood in a local shop waiting to be served and a lady joined the queue behind me, almost immediately I smelt her and took a step forward, slightly turning to place my basket between her and I, to better protect my poor nose. This didn't help, I assumed the usual posture, free hand moved to just below the nose as you pretend to stroke/play with your lip and try not to breathe. I glanced behind me and saw that the lady behind the smelly one had assumed an identical posture. The people being served were taking a while, I toyed with the idea of leaving the queue, feigning having forgotten something, but maybe I'd be served any second, did I have time to stand again at the end of a queue of increasing length?
   The thing is, the smell is so often of unwashed clothes and unwashed body. It's not a smell of exercise just completed, it's a smell that has accumulated for days and I hesitate to say weeks, and it saddens me. Do they know? Do they care? I think most of us would be horrified to discover that people around us thought we smelt bad.
6. One more thing about people. The TV channel Living have been screening the original CSI, beginning from Season One every night of the week, it's not on till late evening so I prefer to record it. As a result when I sit down to grab some lunch or just chill out for half an hour and turn on the TV, it is set to Living, daytime Living shows a lot of Jerry Springer and Maury. I want to know, is any of it real? It is all fictional? Because honestly, some of those stories, they just don't compute. One chick: "Hi Maury, I'm here for the third time to test three more men, because I'm sure one of them HAS to be the father of my child." On this occasion, it was taking her tried total to 7. Seven men that could potentially be the father of her child. I mean, she's been wrong four times already, what if she's wrong three more times, exactly how high a number can she even achieve? It gives me the fear. I need soothing and reassuring they're all actors.
7. I think I have an addiction to store loyalty cards. No really. My friend Harriet, my niece Chloe and I compare how many Dividend Points we have on our Co-Op cards. When I got my letter from the Co-Op telling me what I'd earned and how much of a bonus they were going to give me, I was genuinely excited. It has become like a competition. Harriet sent me a text to tell me she'd broken the £15 mark and was irrationally excited. I'm just pence away from hitting £30. I'm a terrible saver, but these points, which are, in essence, free money, well I take pride in them. I can't bring myself to spend them. I must hoard them, see how high I can make that figure. When the offers come out I'm there, getting my 5X points on local produce or fair trade, just so I can see how much more I've accumulated. Yesterday I got an email, telling me about my Nectar card - which I use in Sainsburys - saying I could sign up for more points, just spend £5 on fruit & veg and 100 extra points would be mine. There was also a link to show me what I could spend my points on. Now I have a Nectar card obsession, I have to choose what I can save for! I have gone beyond sad, to lands undiscovered. I'd say I needed to get a life, but I actually quite like the one I have. Even with its loyalty card addiction.
8. This weekend is one of Lincoln's Free Weekends. It's a brilliant idea, you can visit the tourist attractions and get free entry. So, I'm heading to Doddington Hall with Rachael. Despite it being almost on my doorstep and driving past it regularly, I've never visited the actual hall. I was even there this week at the farm shop & cafe with Harriet.
   She and I went to have lunch there, when we arrived it was a bit pricey so we weren't sure if we should stay, both of us being short of cash, but we thought we'd brave it. I ordered a Jerusalem artichoke risotto and was told it was gone but I could have mushroom risotto instead. As the only veggie option on the menu I couldn't argue. Harriet had a burger and when they came both meals were lovely, but we both felt overpriced. Our table was near the till which meant we could be surrounded by customers at times, so it wasn't a private dining situation. We're both cake fiends so we opted for dessert which was beautifully presented. We went to pay, Harriet handed over her card and I handed her half of the bill in cash. As we left Harriet swept ahead of me, I'd been intending to meander through the farm shop and have a browse but Harriet seemed to be in a hurry. She turned back to me and hurried me a little. We got to the car and she explained. I hadn't realised but we'd thought the meals were overpriced, then they undercharged us, so she'd been in a hurry to make a swift exit. Are we terrible? Sometimes I like to believe Karma bites you in the ass and sometimes it smiles on you.

Ugly?

I saw a link to this earlier, which supposed that this is the worlds ugliest cat.
I happily describe myself as a cat person, more than that, I'm an animal lover. I've always had pets from Bobby Flowerpot my hamster (I was young, I'm sure the name made sense) till Mifford today.
In between have been pets including cats Smudge & Lightning, chinchillas Poppy, Quaker, Dobey, Flip, Flop, rabbits Oswald, Goose, Edwina, Rosalind, Chish, guinea pigs Wellington & Fips, hamsters Blob, Chaffie, Chi-Chi, gerbil Jeremy Splodge, stick insects Edgarina & Gluey and a locust Jiminy. There was also Louis the Bichon Frise - but he belongs to Mum so not strictly mine but he lived with me a while, although I can't forget Delirious, a greyhound but she came as a bundle with my ex-fiance.
As a youngster we also had chicken and several aviaries with budgerigars, love birds, canaries, quail, finches.....
The point being I love animals, always have, always will.
And I just don't think that cat is ugly.
I think it's adorable. I want to take it home and cuddle with it.
Which is not something Mifford would approve of. It's safe to say she feels nothing but loathing for anything with four legs, and if you have feathers, two legs don't work for her either. And to be fair she did catch a slug once, so even a lack of legs annoys her. It's safe to say she hates anything that is not a human. She's a bitch, what can I say.
But a cute one.
This is a little known yogic pose: "at one with radiator".


I take a great blurry photo. It's a skill.

Interviewed

Where does the time go?
Seriously?
It does more than fly, it moves at some sort of Star Trek warp speed.
I have no idea what that means, I've never seen Star Trek, but I think it's quite fast....
Anyway, I have a cold. I'm happy to share it around if anyone would like one. It comes complete with my usual hacking cough and I'm willing to also pass that on. My generosity is a weakness.

So, the last time I was here I got my interview questions from Sleepydumpling and now that I have a moment to breathe I'm going to answer them.
This is such a brilliant idea, I love it!

Q1. What was it that got you started with blogging? And what keeps you blogging?

I remember way back in 1998 reading The Diary of V and absolutely loving it. It was a fictional diary and the word blog didn't really exist back then - or at least I never heard it, but I'd go and religiously check for a new entry to see what was going on with her, it was like reading a really long book and I loved the idea of it. It stopped being written back in 2006 and I think it was around then that I started reading some of the other blogs that were around, both fictional and real, slowly finding more and more and being a little envious of how funny people were! But I also really liked finding a group of people that wrote without resorting to txtspk and also knew how to spell.
I wasn't sure that I had anything to say, or even that I would be entertaining, or amusing, or in fact not fickle enough to give it up after the first week.
I started a blog on myspace, but found it really limiting and moved on over here where I could do a little more.
I enjoy the interaction with other people around the world, which isn't something you get to do everyday in normal life. I was always a little awed by other bloggers and really nervous of commenting on their blogs! But I've braved that this year and it's probably that which keeps me blogging, getting comments, knowing what I've written has been read and possibly enjoyed!

Q2. What did/do your parents think of your tattoos?

I think it's safe to say that in this case, actions would speak louder than words and the action would be a large frown! My body is mine to do with what I please but I think there was always a concern I would regret my decision to be tattooed. Maybe not today or next year, but possibly in another 30 years. I don't believe that I will but I also think that I can't hold off on doing something today because of an effect it could possibly, maybe, perhaps have when I'm elderly - so long as it's not bad for my health!

Q3. What would you say the greatest inspiration has been in your life?

That's a really hard one. I've been through psychotherapy and I think the realisation that who I am is just fine. I can be eccentric, unreasonable, angry, happy, wild, adventurous, loud, quiet, tattooed, scarlet-haired, ditzy, organised, opinionated etc, etc, etc, has inspired me to be whatever I want to be and not apologise for not being mainstream. That said, I've always rather revered those that didn't follow convention in some way. Back in my school years I remember learning about Albert Schweitzer and being amazed by this man, who gave up what could have been a very prosperous life to train as a doctor to go out and help with medical care in Lambarene. He was a vegetarian who reportedly lived surrounded by animals and this undoubtedly appealed to me. As did his work 'Reverence for Life'. I remember trying to memorise quotes for my examination essays and one with I think has been paraphrased through history is:
"I am life that wills to live, in the midst of other life that also wills to live, when I acknowledge and respect all life, then will to live becomes will to love"
Those words have always resonated with me, respect life.
Have courage to go your own way.
Great lessons and certainly an inspiration to me.

Q4. What is your earliest memory?
It's always been the same thing, my Dad coming to collect me from my Mum's house, usually quite late (by a small child's reckoning), I'd be wrapped in a blanket and put into the back of the car to head off for the weekend. I remember just feeling so sleepy, but warm. Always makes me smile!

Q5. You clearly love music. What would you say would be the songs that most define you?

You realise that this question makes my brain start to bleed a little? It's an incredibly hard question, there are so many songs with memories attached!
I think Lady Marmalade by Patti Labelle is almost the quintessential song. Although I don't use that name here, I've been Lady Marmalade online since back in 1996. I used to go to a good number of internet group meets and would be often introduced as Lady M. I swear Lady M almost became a different persona!
It was understood that if that track was ever played in a club my friends were obligated to go dance with me! By the way, I hadn't appreciated, when I chose Lady Marmalade as a screen name, that she was essentially a prostitute. That is definitely no reflection on my good self!
The song Black Betty by Ram Jam will always remind me of being a nanny, driving down the road, playing it loud, windows open with the kids screaming "BAM-A-LAM". (I can't tell you how my eyes are watering as I laugh remembering that!)
I suspect I've said this before but I think the band Oige was my first introduction to folk music and the first moment I heard them, I knew what I'd been missing from the music everyone else was listening to on the radio. It was like coming home, there was fiddle, bodhran, tin whistle and pipes combined with beautiful, beautiful songs. Cara Dillon was the singer in Oige and do have a listen to P Stands For Paddy which will forever remain one of my favourite songs.
Folk music was really such an awakening, I'm slowly trying to draw more people into it and there does seem to be a real movement towards it. When I started going to the Cambridge Folk Festival tickets took weeks to sell out, now it's hours.
Oh my god, as I was thinking about music and this question, a memory surfaced, I clearly remember putting this vinyl single on and then I had to jump around for the length of it. I wonder where all that energy went?

I swear I could go on and on with songs... but I'll restrain myself!

So I guess it's time... if any of you are reading and fancy a five question interview, just say so and I'll pop over (once I've had some inspiration) and interview - minus the overhead spotlight obviously.

Pig Drawing

I found this link in stored away in my favourites and feel the need to share, but I think you should all share in response too.

You know you want to.
Draw a pig that is.

I drew one and I'm even going to share that too but you don't look at mine till you've done yours.
Promise?
Cross your heart?
As an added bonus you'll even get a personality report.

Feel that anticipation?

Ok, so, did you draw a pig?
Have you linked to it in the comments?

I'll believe you... here's my artistic effort.

Square Eyes

I like television. I like being entertained by good quality shows. Sometimes I like being entertained by bad quality shows too.
But I am, along with many others, totally addicted to Strictly Come Dancing.
I watched the results show this evening with my heart in my mouth.
Heather and Don in the dance off.
I really liked both of them, but then it came to the judges decision and I disagreed. When the first vote went to Heather I felt bizarrely incensed, I didn't think I had an opinion until that point. Then she got the second and third vote and Don was out of Strictly.
How do you get so involved in a tv programme?
How do you come to care about the outcome? I don't care enough to actually pick up the phone and vote but enough to become incensed when it's not the result I wanted!

I do have Sky tv, I like having all those channels to choose from, but I never cease to be amazed there are hundreds of channels with nothing on. How is that possible?
But then I love drama mostly. Getting totally absorbed in a storyline and feeling my heart start to race as the adrenaline pumps as tension builds.
It's the same at the end of Strictly as they stand there waiting for their names to be called out. Saved for another week of torture, perspiration and choreography.

Rachael and I watched Arlington Road last night, after Strictly had finished of course. I had to make someone watch it so I could discuss it. The twists and turns the movie make just make your mind reel, never entirely sure where it's heading to. Afterwards I still feel left with questions unanswered and I had to discuss them with someone who had seen it too. They're still unanswered so maybe it's time to hit IMDB!

Unhappy Ending

I was just updating my Recently Read & Reading section.
I'm not sure I should have counted 'It should be you' by Josie Lloyd though. I didn't finish it. When I got to the point that I was hoping that the central character, Charlie, was either going to get shot in the head or have a deeply unhappy ending in some other way, I realised I probably wasn't really drawn into the book.
I hated her. And I hated her friends. But something told me that, with it being chick-lit, they weren't all going to be maimed in the way I was fantasising about.
So, I pulled out the bookmark and the book is going to be given away.
It ought to be a candidate for Book Crossing but I'm not sure it would be fair to inflict it on some unknowing stranger.
I've moved on to The Neon Bible and it's a vast improvement.

Up, Down, Up, Down

Last week I got the call to say that my Dad had been rushed into hospital with a suspected heart attack.
Ten years ago, on my birthday, I was sitting at work. During my break I rang home and spoke to my then fiance, who was decidedly odd in the way he spoke to me that day. On prompting he said he needed to talk to me when I got home, being an impatient sort I prodded him until he finally admitted that my Dad had been rushed into hospital with a heart attack, but he hadn't wanted to tell me while I was at work. I wandered back to my desk and sat for a moment, I took a few more calls before realising I had no idea what the people on the other end of the phone were talking about. I went to one of the managers and explained what I'd just been told and went home.
After that, Dad had a quadruple heart bypass and became fit. Really fit. I mean hiking 15+miles in a few hours fit.
In July he had his 70th birthday and can still comfortably outwalk me.
So to hear he'd been rushed into hospital was stressful to say the least.
I drove to the hospital, he was in bed on oxygen but seemed quite bright. They didn't have him wired up to anything so I thought that could only be good news. It didn't look as though they'd be keeping him long and I was sure he'd want to be home asap.

The weekend rolled over and left me feeling a bit morose as exhibited a couple of posts below.
Monday showed its face and I decided to be more positive. I remembered the talking cats and how much they made me laugh, so they got posted and I chuckled away to myself as I watched it through a couple of times.

A little later on I got a comment on that post and it's safe to say that it absolutely made my day.
The lovely lady who writes An Apron Away From A Straitjacket, mentioned me in this post. I haven't had time yet to fulfill the rest of the rules, but I will do when life decides to calm down a little! Or a lot!
I'm really looking forward to reading all the others that she nominated and having a good long lurk. Although, thinking about how much I enjoy getting comments here, I think it might be time to bite the blog bullet and start commenting.
Anyway, thank you, thank you, for the nomination and my next entry is going to be fulfilling all of the rules. I'm completely stunned that we can stumble upon one another in the blogging ether and find so many people that we enjoy reading. It's such a real delight.
I'm actually blushing.

Dad was released from hospital on Tuesday afternoon, then rushed back in on Wednesday with more chest pains. He's still there, waiting on more tests etc etc.
Today I am going to take my niece out for lunch and see whether talking and eating simultaneously can cause jaw cramp. Whilst also looking deeply unattractive, obviously. Then I'm going to the hospital with fresh clothing for Dad who rang yesterday to inform me he's starting to 'pen and ink'. Yes, my Dad is a cockney. Whom I don't recall ever using rhyming slang before.

What's really good is that the sun is shining, as it did yesterday. We gave up on Summer, before it gave up on us.

Talking Cats

Ok, so I was morose yesterday. It happens. Sporadically.
So, to lighten the mood and your viewing pleasure, behold:

It kills me, I mean makes me laugh so hard I fear for my bladder control.

And More...

pics of my little jaunt to France can be found here. They're of the still variety, but something tells me they may be a little more interesting than the driving videos!
And... at some point I might even get round to relating my adventures, oh you lucky people you.

Hours In The Day

I've realised it's not that there aren't enough hours in the day, it's that there are so many things to distract you from what needs to be done.

I may have spent more than a wee while chuckling over someecards this morning and I'm beginning to feel that a theme may be approaching. There are just so many great cards, so many hilariously offensive jokes that I can't keep them to myself. Not that I'm the only one with access to the site, obviously... well, you know what I meant.

And by the way, if I'm ever murdered and AM inspiration for a Law & Order episode, I only pray that it's actually Law & Order: Criminal Intent. That programme may hold another of my Celebrity Crushes in the guise of Vincent D'Onofrio, although I think it's his character Robert Goren that the crush is actually on. I'm attracted to his intelligence and quirks. So it would be great if he could investigate my murder.

Not that I'm looking to be murdered you realise, I'm hoping to live to a ripe old age, to have many cats and scare the local village children who will run past my cottage screaming "Run from Scary Cat Lady".

But, if I were to be murdered, look at the fine detective below:

Ahhhh, delicious. I know he'd find and successfully outwit the fiend who killed me.

Cambridge 2008

Here I sit. Cambridge 2008 is over, now the wait begins for the box office to open in May.
Although I'm not quite willing to give it up just yet and am listening to the highlights on the Radio 2 site as I tap away at the keyboard.
Eric Bibb is currently belting out a song and a very fine one it is too...suddenly seems so long ago I stood dancing to it, the cheers in the background may have been mine!

Midday arrived on Thursday, our scheduled departure time, we packed everything into the car. I still haven't mastered the art of packing lightly, I don't like sleeping bags so take a king size duvet. And a suitcase. And a Texan icebox. And. And. And.

We headed off and stopped for lunch on the way, which meant that we made our arrival at the campsite at the perfect hour. You see, there are two campsites for the festival. One at Cherry Hinton where the festival itself is held and the other a short bus ride away at Coldhams Common. I always camp at Coldhams as it means I can have the car right next to the tent - which stores all my crap which comes with my inability to pack lightly. Now, Coldhams Common is split into two halves, the first being proper Common ground, long grass on undulating ground with cow/sheep pats for extra interest. The second half is a playing field. Perfectly flat with short mown grass.
No prizes for guessing which half is most comfortable to camp on.

Tent was erected. Beds inflated. Wristbands attached. Programme bought. Bus caught.
We strolled onto Cherry Hinton. I felt the atmosphere and tried to decide what I was going to do. My one real prayer had been that Laura Marling and Three Daft Monkeys didn't clash. I examined the programme. Shit. A tough decision was going to have to be made.
I put it off a while as we wandered around the stalls, looked at the food, I stared longingly at the CD stall, wishing the bank balance allowed me to purchase almost everything on view.
Every Thursday I have Nachos Grandee. It's become a tradition and one that I dragged Mum into, although she wasn't unwilling! We managed to grab a table under the food marquee and a few moments later the rain started to fall.
When the food was consumed and the rain slowed we headed to the Club Tent to watch Megson who I enjoyed, a nice way to ease into the weekend. Then a man, well over 6 feet tall decided to stand smack in the middle of the seated crowd. There were yells of "sit down" from the back, eventually someone waded through the crowd, tapped him on the shoulder and asked if he'd mind sitting down as he was blocking everyone behind him. His response was a little impolite, needless to say he stayed standing. It's worth adding here what a sense of karma there was to see him escorted from Stage One by security on Friday night, and a sense of glee. Obviously.
After Megson it was time for Stage Two to watch Cherryholmes. Who were awesome. Absolutely loved them, but left in the middle to go back to the tent. I had made my decision, 3 Daft Monkeys were the choice of the night, so I had to drop off my bag and chair.
I returned and told Mum that we were going in. But she exclaimed, we've already been in the marquees. I shook my head. No, no, no. Standing at the back is nothing like standing in the melee at the front and it has to be experienced at least once. The difference in atmosphere in different areas of the marquees is distinctly palpable. So in we went... I'd decided that the Club Tent would be the safest melee to experience and it was excellent. I really enjoy Three Daft Monkeys, they're just such great fun. I'd heard the albums before I saw them live and love them even more now! I danced and danced and then danced some more. I was lovely and pink faced and a little glowing to say the least. Just the way I like it. Although, I must admit I saw Mum visibly flinch and her fingers fly to her ears when the whooping and whistling commenced at the end of the set. I love a good whoop I do.
We headed back to the tent afterwards and to the showers. There was a small queue, this was new to me, the late night showers used to be something I was totally alone in. Showers slowly became available and I let Mum go first. Another door opened, the gentleman emerging told me that the water was "a bit cold". That may have been the definition of an understatement. I have established where the glacial meltwaters are going - to that shower. I'm pleased I was still so hot from dancing otherwise I'd have risked hypothermia. I washed my hair, got dried and headed off to bed. I slept quite well, despite my habitually deflating airbed.

Friday morning. Off to Sainsburys for breakfast and to shop for lunch. I prefer to graze on salad and fruit than buy from the food stalls most of the time. It stops the fighting to get in and out of Main Stage. Breakfasted and shopped, we headed back to the tent, got ready and headed to the festival. We sat down, readying ourselves for the run for a prime spot. Midday rolled around again and we all prepared ourselves for the barriers to be removed, for the compere to come onstage and tell us not to run.
A short while later the barriers were removed and obviously we all sprinted to our spot of choice, settling ourselves in and waiting for the first band to make their way on stage.
First of the day was Mauvais Sort. High energy and great for a bit of dancing, wouldn't mind owning one of their albums!
Second was Cherryholmes, so I got to see a full set this time. The band is one family and every single one of them is an incredibly talented, accomplished musician. And I'm not a bit jealous. Ahem.
Third was Eliza Carthy. I love Eliza I do. Everything about her, she's just a natural on stage, loved by the whole audience and you can't help but warm to her. She came on stage and very obviously pregnant, at one point resting her accordion on the bump and announcing that she was not having a child, she was having a table.
I'd arranged to meet a couple of ladies from Facebook, and we were all sitting together as I related something I'd read on another blog. I'll call it the Lift Theory. Basically, it's a way of judging a person by how it would be if you were stuck in a lift with them. You just know that Eliza would be cracking to be stuck in a lift with!
I must say here that it was a real delight to have arranged to meet some new people. Cambridge is a notoriously friendly festival and I ended up chatting with numerous people over the weekend, seeing people I recognised from the years I've been attending. I'd originally contacted Pip and Emma on Facebook because they'd noted on the site that they were attending alone, something I'd briefly considered doing before Mum said she'd like to go, so I thought it would be really good to meet the brave folks that had gone for it.
Before the short afternoon/evening break was Michael McGoldrick Band. What I found most amazing about this was their fiddler had got stuck because his flight had gone tits up, so in desperation they'd rung another fiddler. He'd learned the entire set, that day, in the car to the festival. What a true talent!

The evening sets began and three of my personally most-anticipated acts were on.
The Waifs were superb, I remember how blown away I was the first time I saw them and that still stays. I love how they work together. What I think is really interesting is that they're brilliant with a band, just as they're brilliant when it's just the three of them. I find it almost impossible to pick a favourite song - unlike the woman who relentlessly screamed for them to do 'Gillian'.
Then came the Peatbog Faeries. Who I adore. I danced until I was once again glowing. Just excellent. I never tire of seeing them. What was quite special to me was that the last time I had the opportunity to see them live I was really ill, it was before I was diagnosed with gallstones but I spent that gig in agonising pain and being desperately upset I was missing them.
The next gig was Billy Bragg. Not one I was looking forward to if I'm honest, I saw him once before and it just didn't do it for me. But, I really wanted to see the Levellers who were on immediately afterwards. So, did I attempt an escape to go and watch someone else or hang around? I'm lazy, I chose the latter. Then he went and opened his set with 'World Turned Upside Down', damn it, I was starting to warm to him. A little later he did 'Sexuality', damn I knew that one too. He covered a Bob Marley track. Then to top it all he did 'New England'. I actually mostly enjoyed it. Who knew! I am surprised.
Closing Friday night were the Levellers. Before they came on I leaned in to Mum and listed the songs I wanted; England My Home, Liberty, Dirty Davey, One Way, Riverflow. I got them all. My wishes were granted. I danced and once again was left glowing and mighty hot.
Again we trundled back to the bus and to the tent, I once again braved the showers, this time leaving my stuff on the step outside, going in to check that the shower both worked and had heat. The first one was icy, so I moved on, turning on the second I felt the water start to warm so went and collected my stuff. I undressed and went to step under the water, noticing the fast rising steam. I decided this must be due to the cooler temperatures outside, then I felt the water and wondered if I was risking third degree burns by stepping into it. But, I showered and left with all my skin miraculously still attached to me.

Once again, I slept well, although waking early due to the deflated airbed and light coming into the tent. Another Sainsburys breakfast later we packed up our food for the day and went to find a spot to settle in for the day.
Saturday held a few unknown names and a few that I was looking forward to.
First up at midday was The Chair - an Orcadian band and they bloody rocked! I had planned to have a lazy start to today's music, but was forced to my feet by the need to dance to their fabulous tunes.
Second was Chris Wood, who gave me the opportunity for that lazy time.
The thing is with Cambridge, whether or not an artist is to your taste you can wholly appreciate the songwriting, the musical talent, their incredible talent.
Having just finished listening to the Cambridge highlights this Monday evening I have heard a myriad of comments about Devon Sproule who was next up on Saturday. I enjoyed her, but I wasn't wild about her.
This is something I discussed with various people at various times, we can have an artist that we both love. One gentleman I chatted to shared a huge love of Loudon Wainwright III with me, but we couldn't have disagreed more about Kate Rusby.
It's like each of us is two circles that interlock to greater and lesser degrees. The overlapping part contains the artists in common and the outer part the ones we don't share, I've yet to find someone that completely overlaps my circle and I never expect to.
Altan were fourth to the stage, I've seen them a number of times and always enjoy them. Mairead Ni Mhaonaigh has such a beautiful voice and I never, never tire of it. Along with that there are jigs and reels - perfect!
Then, before the evening set began were Bassekou Kouyate & Ngoni Ba. Absolutely brilliant, one thing about Cambridge is that the artists really always appear to enjoy being on stage. This was particularly true of one of the band members here who was flinging his legs around with gay abandon whilst wearing possibly the most enormous grin I've ever seen.

The evening set kicked off with Eric Bibb, who is really a consummate performer and wonderfully easy on stage. I'd met up again with Emma and she loved him too, debating whether to see Martha Wainwright who was up next or to head off to get a signature from Eric Bibb. Mr Bibb won the toss and as a result I too have a signed programme! Hurrah! Thank you very kindly for that Emma! I just turned to that page in my programme to look at it and had a huge grin to myself.
Martha took the stage and I thought she was wonderful. It's such a change to come from not enjoying her at all the first time I saw her live to now feeling like I could listen to her for hours. I loved her version of Stormy Weather. I love her confidence on stage and I think that's what has made the difference. I also loved that she covered one of Loudon's tracks - Pretty Good Day, which is a really beautiful, powerful track.
Next was Allen Toussaint, someone who has been around a long time, written so many songs that you know so well, but without appreciating where they originated. The current Boots advert? With the 'Here come the girls' song? That's his. That classic 'Working In The Coal Mine'? His. Along with so many more. Once again someone born to be on the stage, wonderful.
Fourth was k. d. lang. I wasn't sure what to expect from her.
On Friday Mum and I had been chatting away to a gent called Geoff/Jeff (I'm sorry if you're out there that I didn't check the spelling!) We'd joked a little about the fact he'd injured his leg and wasn't able to dance and bounce around as he'd wanted. I felt I should maybe do my bouncing behind him so he wasn't tormented by having to gently bop.
Anyway, I digress, J/Geoff and I were stood a couple of people apart when he caught my eye, a few songs into k. d. lang's set. He put the palms of his hands together, put his hands to the side of his head and pretended to sleep. His thoughts matched mine perfectly and I chuckled, the chuckle became a snort, became a full on guffaw. Which transmogrified into an intense coughing fit, which I'm not sure was appreciated by the people around me who appeared to be enjoying Ms Lang. I wasn't really enjoying the songs. I'll admit that she was very funny, her balletic leaps were something I could also achieve, in their non-balletic-ness. However, then she went and did Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah. I adore that song, it's so phenomenally beautiful. I've heard it sung by a number of people and it's never anything less than beautiful. She finished off with a hoedown which was just brilliant and I sort of wish that was how her whole set had been.
The evening ended with The Imagined Village. Abso-fuckling-lutely-brilliant. I mean, you get Eliza Carthy, Martin Carthy, Sheila Chandra, Billy Bragg, Johnny Kalsi just for starters - it can only get better and better. I believe in total there were 17 on stage and added to that a huge video screen. At some point an idiotic woman shouted something along the lines of "Shut the hell up and sing us a song", she could be heard whining that the video was shit or suchlike. Then speaking to someone immediately in front of me she yelled "I'm sick of this wank, I'm leaving". I bit my lip and resisted the urge to trip her on the way out.
I fucking love this:

I can't finish this entry without a link to this. It blew my mind, I have to have this album!

So, Saturday also finished on a high.

We walked back to the campsite - it's further than you think when you're tired and your wellies hurt!

I grabbed my towel and headed off for a shower lottery.

I found a working one and immediately felt a lot like Goldilocks.

The first had been too cold.

The second had been too hot.

The last one was just right.

I got back to the tent, Mum was still in the shower. I was hanging my towel over a tent pole when a shout behind me got my attention. I looked up and watched the announced streaker run past my tent. Yes, a totally naked man skipped gleefully down the grass road between the tents. Now I've seen some things at Cambridge, but that's officially my first streaker.

Another good, if short, nights sleep. Thank goodness for ear plugs! But not so much for deflating air beds.

Sunday meant packing up the tent, moving the car down the road so we'd be ready to go at the end of the festival. Mum was still sleeping soundly as I let the (little) remaining air out of my airbed, folded my bedding and clothing, only finally waking her as I exited the tent. We got the tent packed up just as the rain started again, trundled off to park the car before parking ourselves once again ready for another full day. It was a real delight to know that I wasn't going to have to leave early. We mounted the bus, headed to the back (you get the best breeze from the windows), we exited the car park. We turned right. Ooops. The festival is left. We got on the wrong bus. We did a total circuit, going back where we came from before returning to the car park and then finally moving on to the festival. Mum insists we were all sheep for following her blithely.

The only thing I have to say is: Baa.

Despite having really loved The Imagined Village, I didn't feel I'd found my band of the festival and felt bizarrely disheartened about that. I'd liked the acts of course, but most I already knew, I like the discovery of a new love, a new infatuation.

First on stage was Lisa Knapp. I said to J/Geoff that whilst I didn't mean it to sound insulting, she made me want to sleep. Not that she was boring but that her songs had a lullaby quality to them. Knapp in name, nap in nature.

Beoga were next, good for a bit of a jig about too, but they haven't stuck in my mind, nor has Tim O'Brien who followed.

Next was Karine Polwart whose songs are really beautifully written and whom I always enjoy.

The very delicious Seth Lakeman was there for our wonderful entertainment next. Emma joined us again to watch him, because really, watching Seth play Kitty Jay. It may be all I need. I adore the fiddle and the way he ends Kitty Jay when he plays it live never, never fails to make me unconsciously hold my breath.

The evening began with Judy Collins, who is another legend in the business, having been around for so very long, but, whilst I know she had a lovely voice, it didn't do it for me.

John Hiatt had been replaced by Richard Hawley in the line-up due to an illness in the family of the former. I was quite looking forward to Mr Hawley after I read that he was in Longpigs and Pulp, but I found the only reason I was dancing was because I was cold. He said he had been incredibly nervous before the set, thinking that he was going to be pelted with missiles because we'd all hate him. I definitely didn't hate him, I thought the guitar playing was superb, but sometimes there's just not a hook there for you.

I was left with two more artists to go. Still no band of the festival and I already knew the next one to hit the stage.

Joan Armatrading. A legend in her lifetime. A woman in the audience yelled, in every break between songs "I love youuuuuuu". After the half-dozenth announcement of adoration, Joan leant into the mike and simply said "You're starting to scare me". Much chuckling followed. Although the declarations of love did not stop.

Sadly, midway through this set a group of revellers deposited themselves immediately behind us and proceeded to hold a yelled conversation. J/Geoff and I exchanged glances and rolled eyes. After a moment J/Geoff turned and politely asked them to lower their voices. I heard the tone of the response rather than the actual words. Then I heard J/Geoff say "I said excuse me". To which the ignorant idiot responded "And I said Fuck Off". At which point, all 5'1" of me waded in with a very loud "Oi!" I mean really, there were four of them. One of these days I will end up in hotter water than the shower of night two. I said they'd been asked politely to be quiet, we'd been nice. It went quiet for a short moment or two before the yelled conversation kicked off again. The woman immediately behind me issued a loud "Shhh" and was again responded to with a loud "Fuck Off". Nice. Security? Anywhere? Not on your nelly.

After berating us a little further they strode further into the crowd and apparently annoyed a few folks in front of us judging by the irate gesturing.

Finally, we could enjoy Joan.

Or maybe not.

Maybe we'd need to attempt a rescue on the drunken falling over man.

Who fell asleep in the middle of the crowd. Two attempts to get security to address it resulted in nothing but the obvious lack of training in the staff there which was a real shame. He was almost kicked in the head more times than I care to remember, it was dark, we were about to enter the last set, thousands of people would be leaving. The risks of someone getting hurt, in a minor or major way were high. Still they refused to move him. Mum promises to be issuing the festival with a formal complaint. Real shame.

Finally....Closing the festival was Kila. They'd played Stage Two the previous night but I hadn't caught them as I hadn't really left Stage One.

The last band. Just when I'd given up hope. I found my band of the festival.

Blew. My. Mind.

Mum and I had planned to leave a little early in order to miss the bus queue. Then, before I knew it, the compere was on stage saying it was all over.

But I wasn't done dancing. I screamed, whooped and yelled for more. Mum distinctly leaned away from me and my decibels.

No more was forthcoming. Joan Armatrading had run late, cutting down Kila's time on stage as the festival has to hit curfew to be able to continue.

I left on a real high, thrilled that I'd had such an incredible end to the weekend.

I hugged J/Geoff goodbye, having said farewell to Emma earlier that day, vowing to keep in touch and get some festivals in together, which would be absolutely fabulous! I promised to see J/Geoff next year in the same spot!

We mounted the bus, having to stand. A trio stood near us, one of them wanting to stand near the ceiling handles. I said I'd move if he promised to do some acrobatics. He advised me I'd be able to see him in London 2012 doing just that. Bus olympics? A sport you never before imagined. He then asked me how the Steve Winwood version of Valerie went, going on to say that he didn't mean the Zutons version. Which was of course then the only version my brain would allow me to hear. Somehow that conversation morphed into comments on Valerie Singleton, which morphed into leg warmers, which morphed into a rendition of Olivia Newton John's 'Let's get physical', which morphed into 'Sue Lawley'. (Say what you like, it's clearly NOT 'So Lonely', as we all know.) I was having so much fun I forgot to get off the bus. I'm a genius, me. Luckily Mum was there to give me a shove.

Finally homeward bound.

I had a really great festival, I saw brilliant artists, met some wonderful people and danced my little heart out.

I suppose my final comment would be about the compromise that we all have to make at a festival, it was something continually harped on about by the comperes. Space. It's at a premium.

I choose to arrive early, very early I suppose, to make sure I have somewhere to sit, to relax, to read the paper, to be able to have a dance and watch the artists I like. In doing so my compromise is that I don't move between stages, I don't see the full variety of artists that are appearing.

What frustrates me is that some, not all, people move between the stages, or, arrive very late and expect that we all move to accommodate them. I'm sorry, but no, that's your compromise. Sleep longer? Have a little less space. View a larger number of artists? Have less space. Most people accept that these compromises are there, others force their way in. Pushing against you, standing on your stuff, kicking you in the head.

Then the comperes come on stage, telling us to move. It's bloody easy for them to say that when they're going back stage to their comfy area which I'm sure isn't any kind of squeeze. I'd even hazard a guess that they have tables and chairs. Easy to crush people in when you're comfy yourself.

Whilst not asserting that any one person has a greater right, it is important to realise we are forced into compromise by our choices.

We have to learn to be more patient and more polite. As I moved in and out of the marquee on toilet runs I was able to apologise or utter the words 'excuse me' to almost everyone I passed and you know, it didn't slow me down. It also got me lots of smiles and people moved to help me pass.

It doesn't work that way when you physically shove people. I'm instantly stubborn, ignoring the shoving, forcing an 'excuse me' from their lips every time I can. Politeness costs nothing but it seems to be an impossible demand for so many.

I don't want to end this marathon entry on that semi-sour note. I can't wait for next year, I can't wait for more new friends, I can't wait for more new acts. I won't wish my life away but I really loved it. After last year being such a miserable festival, the experience this year has made the memory of 12 months ago fade almost into obscurity.

Speaking to Mum in the car on the journey home she said she was pleased she'd attended which was excellent and we now even share a band that we both really like. I'm not sure if either of us expected that, but then, the brilliance of the Peatbog Faeries is undeniable. You can't help but be won over!

Here's to this year and next!

EDIT: Updated to include links for your clicking pleasure!

The Pencil Test

The following quote that I read today reduced me to giggles and every time I think about it a huge smile spreads across my face, which doubtless makes random strangers wonder just what mischief I'm up to.

Behold random quote:

"Every girl in the world mocks the pencil test until the day she fails it, prompting her to binge on Doritos and investigate whether a boob lift is prohibitively expensive. But you know what helps? UNDERWIRE. It makes cleavage smile"

And here is where these lovely words originated. Go see, it's worth a click! And it's totally clean and safe too!

Anyway, I'm happy in the knowledge that my cleavage is smiling.

Ass or Elbow?

I previously mentioned that life is so busy I cannot tell my ass from my elbow.
I would like to direct you here to illustrate how easy it can be to confuse the two.

I got sunburn.
I am a numpty. When will I ever learn?
Damn it stung in the shower this morning.

Tomorrow I am going away for the weekend. Oh yes, there will be merriment. And dancing. And shrieking. And whooping. I'm also hoping for rest and relaxation, and maybe to finish my book.
Big Session here I come.

Dancing On Ice

My busy schedule meant that last night I was to be found in Nottingham.

I headed off with Mum, Tim & Gladys. Gladys being the name of their all-knowing Sat-Nav.

I sat in the back with my book which I'm rather addicted to, despite it being about vampires, a topic I'd never ordinarily opt to read about. It's not that scary, which is always a bonus as I'm such a giant jessie.

We arrived, found a parking spot and wandered off to find somewhere to have dinner. After seeing a couple of places we turned our noses up we saw Pizza Express and a buffet restaurant. We strolled into Pizza Express, and saw it was heaving with people. We stood around for a moment, were ignored by two separate wait staff and decided that the buffet might be a better option, turned around and left.

We walked into the Red Hot Buffet and were immediately greeted and shown to a table. The tables were a little too crammed together, leaving barely inches between them. Intimate dining is one thing, and I may like to eavesdrop, but this was just too close.

We instead took the option of a booth which was very nice and went off in search of plates and the world buffet promised. My goodness, you want Italian? You got it. Mexican? That too. Chinese? Yeah, that's there too. What's that? You felt like salad? Well what do you know, you can have that as well.

Although my mind is not made up about the pickled mushrooms, that was just weird too weird.

Then, it was time for dessert. Oh my god! There were marshmallows, little penny sweets, melted chocolate, an ice cream machine, a multitude of cheesecakes, tiramisu, vanilla souffle, fudge cake, crumble, a freezer full of more ice creams... I think I may have found my personal heaven. I love cake I do!

After dinner we walked (rolled) to the arena in Nottingham to watch Dancing on Ice live.

We found our seats, row T, which by the way seemed so high up I was sure they'd be providing oxygen in case of altitude sickness. Whilst I'm not that bothered by heights, I do have this weird vertigo that sends me dizzy occasionally and it was a little scary feeling that it was a really, really long way to fall.

Once the lights went down, Torvill and Dean came out and did a wonderful turn on the ice and I momentarily forgot about the mountainous height we were sitting at.

I was also a little distracted by the woman across the aisle from us who appeared to have had surgery to turn her apparently normal hands into a pair of castanets. I've never heard such loud clapping, I'm sure it reverberated around the arena.

The skating stars were introduced, Mum was thrilled to see that David Seaman was amongst their number. This years winner Suzanne Shaw was there too, along with Linda Lusardi, Gareth Gates, Clare Buckfield, Kyran Bracken, Bonnie Langford and Zaraah Abraham.
They all did a turn on the ice, were all judged by the same ice panel as were on tv, then, as the intermission began, the lines were opened and we were able to send a vote via text to choose who we felt deserved to go into the final to dance the famous Bolero.
After the intermission, the professionals came onto the ice to show you how it was all supposed to be done and were really excellent. Although it's worth pointing out that there were only two people to fall over in the whole show and both of them were professionals!

When it came to the end, it was Suzanne against Bonnie in the final and it was rather predictable and I'm beginning to think I might have a psychic ability as, in my head, I predicted each and every celebrity to be voted off as they were voted off. Both were good although my vote would have been for Suzanne, four of the five judges voted for Bonnie, which wasn't at all a popular choice with the audience. I guess that her popularity is waning. We public are a fickle bunch!

On the way out I thought I would surely have a nervous breakdown, whilst making my way down those incredibly steep stairs. I felt my heart rate start to race, then my knee started to tremble - as it does when I feel anxious. Standing on steep stairs is not an appropriate time to have your knee stop working. It was no fun I tell you, but I survived to blog another day.

This afternoon I have headed in to my friend Harriet's shop, tastyvintage so that I can sit out front while she takes photos out back. Although what I'm actually doing is writing this blog entry, thank the lord for dongles and wireless internet.
Harriet came through and tried to give me fizzy water which is just so wrong, so she went in the back to both try on a wedding dress and get me tap water.
A moment later the shop phone rang and I wondered whether or not to answer it.
I picked it up and in my most professional voice said "Hello, TastyVintage".
Harriet's voice greeted me "It's me, I think I'm stuck in the wedding dress."
This is why I love Harriet, I too have been stuck in items of clothing and totally understand her problem. She is now free of said dress following my assisting in pulling its laciness over her head.