I’ve neglected the blog again, haven’t I? I’ve too much on! I’ve too many demands ‘ponst my time and I’ve nowt to say, it seems.
I can’t think of a thing to report so I prostrate myself before you with the following metaphorical sacrificial lamb of a blog:
- I’ve finally started Mad Men on Amazon Prime. Why haven’t I watched it before now? It’s brilliant! The fashions! The naps at work in the afternoon! The cars! The constant smoking and drinking in the office/in front of the kids/while pregnant/in bed/everybloodywhere! It’s fantastic. Of course having a bit of an obsessive personality (which I’ve self diagnosed as a disorder hitherto undiagnosed and marvel at my own ability to have reached these dizzy heights of success in my life considering the obstacles presented by my imaginary condition) I’m fancying myself as a bit of a Joan Holloway with big bouncy boobs and fabulous hair as I swagger seductively through the office swinging my pneumatic hips and smoking a cigarette before downing my mid afternoon vodka gimlet and cuddling down for a nap in my imaginary office. I doubt I’d swagger like Joan though; I’d probably get asked if that horrible yeast infection had reared its ugly head again and is making me walk funny.
- The seventh circle of hell is the tsh-tsh-tsh of fellow train passengers’ tinny earphones – it assaults my ears and makes me stabby. I fantasised about reaching across the table and yanking them right out of her lugs or poking her with my pen while she dozed then just looking out of the window nonchalantly as she opened her eyes.
- Procrastination City Arizona: I’ve a wedding tomorrow (now today – I even procrastinated re the blog post) – both conducting the ceremony and as a guest – which although lovely – has given me another opportunity to leave everybloodything to the last minute. As a result I’m spending Friday evening being crabbit. It’s just as well the Fabulous Mrs Tigerbaps is busy studying in another city thus avoiding my tutting and stomping round the house in the Tesco Butt-Skimming Nightie of Shame with a towel on my head and a face mask (for parched, menopausal skin, natch).
- Before I retire to my boudoir – carefully navigating the obstacle course of the floordrobe to get to my bed – I need to take up the ridiculously long legs of a “vintage inspired” jumpsuit for aforementioned nuptials. I thought I’d cut quite a dash in it but it’s obviously made for oh I don’t know Brienne of Tarth or somebody equally Amazonian rather than a shrinking fifty-something short arse. And now it’s covered in dog hair so that’s great because it’s navy. FML, as the young folk say. I’ve put on weight since I bought the bloody thing too which is superfun.
- It’s now Saturday morning and I really should get up but I hardly slept a wink for the torture that is the erroneously named sleep-in rollers and I’ve a face like a cat’s arse.
That’s it. That’s all I have for you. Have a lovely Saturday and if anybody fancies cutting my grass not-a-euphemism while I’m out it’ll be right here waiting for you, growing like a bastard to spite me.