March 15th
HTB and I celebrate 4 years since we met (again) and I wake to bucks fizz and smoked salmon and scrambled egg for breakfast and a dozen yellow roses. HTB is equally happy with his gift of a cigar case and we exchange cards.
HTB has made plans to go to a rather posh local restaurant with michelin stars coming out of its ears and I discover too late that I am out of contact lenses. Am too vain to wear my glasses and decide to risk no eye wear. Inadvisability of this should have been brought home to me when I yell at my fur muff to get off the bed thinking it is one of the cats but alas it is only my hind sight that is 20/20.
Restaurant is lovely but very very posh. I fall at first hurdle when I get hopelessly entangled in my coat which normally slides from my shoulders with greatest of ease. But worse is to come.
As is usual at these kind of establishments we are treated to a parade of amuse bouche, which are absolutely exquisite. So when another little platter arrives with two titbits on it I waste no time in picking one up and biting into it. A moment later HTB's look of horror becomes clear when I realise I have bitten into the butter! By this time the waitress is approaching with the bread and I hastily put the butter back down and try and modge the two pieces together to hide the crystal clear bite marks.
I am some what hampered in my efforts by a mad giggling fit but the waitress says nothing and am slightly consoled when HTB admits that his look of horror was not because he knew I was eating the butter but because he thought I was biting into a tiny candle. I in turn admit that I don't know whether to be more embarrassed that I ate the butter or that I liked it.
The rest of the meal is divine, but I never quite recover my savoir faire and can't help thinking that the staff are thinking we aren't up to their usual standard of customer.
We totter home still laughing and crack open a bottle of fizz before retiring for the evening.
You really can't take me anywhere.
Wednesday, 21 March 2007
Friday, 16 March 2007
Taking Gloves Off With My Teeth
March 14th
Another fabulous evening at my Burlesque Course. This week we learn the 3 ways to take off a glove and rather marvellous routine with a feather boa. I fall in love with my bottom again for the first time since I put on weight when I see it framed in feathers, and it is a rather nice feeling. Demonstrate several of the moves to HTB on my return and he is rather startled by the Look I Have Breasts move as apparently he has been aware of mine for some time!
Am brought down to earth slightly by letter which arrives from mental hospital – I have been accepted onto program – oh deep joy!
Another fabulous evening at my Burlesque Course. This week we learn the 3 ways to take off a glove and rather marvellous routine with a feather boa. I fall in love with my bottom again for the first time since I put on weight when I see it framed in feathers, and it is a rather nice feeling. Demonstrate several of the moves to HTB on my return and he is rather startled by the Look I Have Breasts move as apparently he has been aware of mine for some time!
Am brought down to earth slightly by letter which arrives from mental hospital – I have been accepted onto program – oh deep joy!
Tuesday, 13 March 2007
Where Did the Week Go
March 13
Busy week at home and work leads to me neglecting my diary again. Work busy as arrival of new number plates triggers car buying and viewing frenzy and I make a lot of coffee. Job made slightly harder by failed mystery shop which managers appear to have on 5 second mental loop as that is the frequency with which they come over to check we have greeted customers as they come through the door. Reflect on the difficulty of discreetly letting customers look round on their own and having greeted them and offered coffee within 3 minutes and snarl internally quite a lot.
Fabulous relief found in two long awaited events. The first is the Burlesque Dance Class that Dear Friend Rachel talks me into (or rather encourages me to put my money where my mouth is!) Rachel and I therefore join a group of 12 women to be taught Burlesque by the awesome Jo King who taught the Tease Maids and has worked with Immodesty Blaize.
Make the mistake of sharing my destination with the salesmen at work and am treated to a chorus of "Private Dancer, Dancer for Money" with much booty shaking (theors not mine)as I leave work.
It is lovely to catch up with Rachel and we sit on a step outside the dance class sipping wine and eating nuts and olives in a sort of posh hobo drinks party and gossip like mad.
We are a mixed group at class - the only unvarying common factor seems to be fabulousness and it is blissful to be in a roomful of women who share my interests. Rachel of course is a natural and I am disconcerted to find that after years of being told by men that I am too exaggerated, that in fact I am not exaggerated enough for Burlesque and resolve to wear more lippy next week. (Obviously magic dancing lippy). I do however practise The Walk at work and find that more of the garage technicians talk to me than usual.
From class it is a short hop and a skip (or shimmy and shake) to Thursday night when we pick up my Dear Friend Inge from Denmark for a weekend of champagne drinking, film watching, tiramisu eating, fur wearing and more gossip. Husband To Be (HTB) kindly makes himself scarce and we watch Tom Hanks in The Terminal, Shirley Valentine and An Affair to Remember. I weep copiously at the end and Inge laughs and we realise nothing much has changed in 16 years.
The weekend goes too quickly and I find myself back at work and preparing for Week 2 of Burlesque in no time at all.
Busy week at home and work leads to me neglecting my diary again. Work busy as arrival of new number plates triggers car buying and viewing frenzy and I make a lot of coffee. Job made slightly harder by failed mystery shop which managers appear to have on 5 second mental loop as that is the frequency with which they come over to check we have greeted customers as they come through the door. Reflect on the difficulty of discreetly letting customers look round on their own and having greeted them and offered coffee within 3 minutes and snarl internally quite a lot.
Fabulous relief found in two long awaited events. The first is the Burlesque Dance Class that Dear Friend Rachel talks me into (or rather encourages me to put my money where my mouth is!) Rachel and I therefore join a group of 12 women to be taught Burlesque by the awesome Jo King who taught the Tease Maids and has worked with Immodesty Blaize.
Make the mistake of sharing my destination with the salesmen at work and am treated to a chorus of "Private Dancer, Dancer for Money" with much booty shaking (theors not mine)as I leave work.
It is lovely to catch up with Rachel and we sit on a step outside the dance class sipping wine and eating nuts and olives in a sort of posh hobo drinks party and gossip like mad.
We are a mixed group at class - the only unvarying common factor seems to be fabulousness and it is blissful to be in a roomful of women who share my interests. Rachel of course is a natural and I am disconcerted to find that after years of being told by men that I am too exaggerated, that in fact I am not exaggerated enough for Burlesque and resolve to wear more lippy next week. (Obviously magic dancing lippy). I do however practise The Walk at work and find that more of the garage technicians talk to me than usual.
From class it is a short hop and a skip (or shimmy and shake) to Thursday night when we pick up my Dear Friend Inge from Denmark for a weekend of champagne drinking, film watching, tiramisu eating, fur wearing and more gossip. Husband To Be (HTB) kindly makes himself scarce and we watch Tom Hanks in The Terminal, Shirley Valentine and An Affair to Remember. I weep copiously at the end and Inge laughs and we realise nothing much has changed in 16 years.
The weekend goes too quickly and I find myself back at work and preparing for Week 2 of Burlesque in no time at all.
Wednesday, 7 March 2007
Mr Sandman, Send Me a Dream
5th March
Further dream about MH – apparently prequel to Montana Ranch dream explaining how we meet. I will say no more than that I am an air hostess (influence of film Catch Me If You Can?) and that my unconscious is apparently entirely oblivious to the Women's Political Movement of the past 20 years and is a Mills & Boon fan to boot. Deep shame felt on behalf of unconscious by conscious which obviously does not stem in any way from enjoyment of dream. (Query: will next dream subsequently be set in Egypt on the banks of Denial? Answer comes there none.)
Notice that in absence from diary regular ready has disappeared from My Space and I find myself mourning loss of almost complete stranger on basis that we had some things in common and that she is the only person I know who reads my blog based on its amusement value alone, and not because she knows me. Indulge in gratifying fantasy that My Space too dull without me to continue subscription, but in reality hope that her health has improved and subsequent gaining of a life has left her no time for blogs. Dismiss completely possibility that she left because she was bored to death and is so concerned that I might be mental woman-hating stalker that she has deleted her profile and started a new one.
This reminds me of strange incident in bar on Friday where I was sheltering my new hairstyle from the rain (fabulous recreation of Veronica Lake peekaboo bangs style done by Gary from Saks in Guildford) while awaiting the arrival of HTB with umbrella and car. Am seated in corner of bar with book when a woman approaches me and asks if I mind if she and friends sit at table. I assure her I don't and she goes on to explain that she asks because it is a group of women. I again smile and assure her that I have nothing against my fellow womankind singly or in groups and am left wondering what about my appearance would lead her to worry. Am eventually joined by very large group of school gate Mums on first night out together and listen with interest to their conversation until HTB's arrival.
Further dream about MH – apparently prequel to Montana Ranch dream explaining how we meet. I will say no more than that I am an air hostess (influence of film Catch Me If You Can?) and that my unconscious is apparently entirely oblivious to the Women's Political Movement of the past 20 years and is a Mills & Boon fan to boot. Deep shame felt on behalf of unconscious by conscious which obviously does not stem in any way from enjoyment of dream. (Query: will next dream subsequently be set in Egypt on the banks of Denial? Answer comes there none.)
Notice that in absence from diary regular ready has disappeared from My Space and I find myself mourning loss of almost complete stranger on basis that we had some things in common and that she is the only person I know who reads my blog based on its amusement value alone, and not because she knows me. Indulge in gratifying fantasy that My Space too dull without me to continue subscription, but in reality hope that her health has improved and subsequent gaining of a life has left her no time for blogs. Dismiss completely possibility that she left because she was bored to death and is so concerned that I might be mental woman-hating stalker that she has deleted her profile and started a new one.
This reminds me of strange incident in bar on Friday where I was sheltering my new hairstyle from the rain (fabulous recreation of Veronica Lake peekaboo bangs style done by Gary from Saks in Guildford) while awaiting the arrival of HTB with umbrella and car. Am seated in corner of bar with book when a woman approaches me and asks if I mind if she and friends sit at table. I assure her I don't and she goes on to explain that she asks because it is a group of women. I again smile and assure her that I have nothing against my fellow womankind singly or in groups and am left wondering what about my appearance would lead her to worry. Am eventually joined by very large group of school gate Mums on first night out together and listen with interest to their conversation until HTB's arrival.
Sunday, 4 March 2007
One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest
2nd March
Long awaited psychiatric consult recommended by specialist arrives and I make my way to mental hospital. (Note to self must remember NOT to call it Mental Hospital out loud as it is merely Psychology Wing of normal hospital.)
Maze like building makes me wonder if I am already being studied and if I will be rewarded with piece of cheese if I make it to office and electric shock if I take wrong turn. Achieve office without any incident of electrocution but sadly don't received cheese either and am directed to waiting area which I would immediately have been able to identify as belonging to Psychology wing by anally retentive arrangement of magazines which I don't dare move.
Exchange baleful looks with other mental patients and then pretend to ignore each other but I am sure that they are as frantically trying to work out what is wrong with me as I am with them. We are joined by very large lady who sits down panting and eyes me hungrily. Consider moving away but decide I could easily out run her if necessary and throw her some of the (assumed) anorexics on the way as snacks. Have to wonder at advisability of mixing the two varieties of eating disorder in same waiting area. Can't imagine the variation in body shape good for health of either.
Am approached by 12 year old mental patient who needless to say turns out to be my psychiatrist and we head into private room.
Spend half hour completing multiple choice questionnaires in which I have to rate how bothered I am by various things and the level of desire I have to kill myself. Sadly there is no box asking me how bothered I am by filling in highly personal questionnaires for complete strangers. I then answer the 50 different ways of asking if I have ever considered killing myself, and find it hard not to reply Not Until I Started This Questionnaire.
This is followed by painful interview in which I am asked to talk about my problem and I manage to paint picture of unpleasant and unstable madwoman while Doctor makes notes at unlikely points in conversation that I am completely unable to read upside down.
Doctor then asks me what I hope to get out of these sessions – if I am approved - and I think not so much What as When, but mumble a reply about improved memory functions and pain management. Doctor suggests memory problem might be lack of focus and inattention to detail and I come back from where I had drifted to and agree it is sheer laziness on my part and she then explains pain management system which seems to boil down to telling ones self to buck up which seems like a colossal waste of time to me and not very scientific, but this is no doubt why I need these sessions in the first place.
Doctor explains that one to one sessions have long waiting list and would I consider group work. I hesitate and she pounces on what she calls my reluctance to join a group and asks what my reservations are. Stem frank and immediate reply that rises to my lips to effect that I don't want to be in room full of mad people and instead waffle on about impressions received from film media (have very clear mental image of Doctor in Butlins style red coat coaxing me into being a joiner and making me weave baskets) before plunging into assertion that I am ready to try anything.
Have great and certain sense of foreboding that I will have cause to regret this at some future date.
Long awaited psychiatric consult recommended by specialist arrives and I make my way to mental hospital. (Note to self must remember NOT to call it Mental Hospital out loud as it is merely Psychology Wing of normal hospital.)
Maze like building makes me wonder if I am already being studied and if I will be rewarded with piece of cheese if I make it to office and electric shock if I take wrong turn. Achieve office without any incident of electrocution but sadly don't received cheese either and am directed to waiting area which I would immediately have been able to identify as belonging to Psychology wing by anally retentive arrangement of magazines which I don't dare move.
Exchange baleful looks with other mental patients and then pretend to ignore each other but I am sure that they are as frantically trying to work out what is wrong with me as I am with them. We are joined by very large lady who sits down panting and eyes me hungrily. Consider moving away but decide I could easily out run her if necessary and throw her some of the (assumed) anorexics on the way as snacks. Have to wonder at advisability of mixing the two varieties of eating disorder in same waiting area. Can't imagine the variation in body shape good for health of either.
Am approached by 12 year old mental patient who needless to say turns out to be my psychiatrist and we head into private room.
Spend half hour completing multiple choice questionnaires in which I have to rate how bothered I am by various things and the level of desire I have to kill myself. Sadly there is no box asking me how bothered I am by filling in highly personal questionnaires for complete strangers. I then answer the 50 different ways of asking if I have ever considered killing myself, and find it hard not to reply Not Until I Started This Questionnaire.
This is followed by painful interview in which I am asked to talk about my problem and I manage to paint picture of unpleasant and unstable madwoman while Doctor makes notes at unlikely points in conversation that I am completely unable to read upside down.
Doctor then asks me what I hope to get out of these sessions – if I am approved - and I think not so much What as When, but mumble a reply about improved memory functions and pain management. Doctor suggests memory problem might be lack of focus and inattention to detail and I come back from where I had drifted to and agree it is sheer laziness on my part and she then explains pain management system which seems to boil down to telling ones self to buck up which seems like a colossal waste of time to me and not very scientific, but this is no doubt why I need these sessions in the first place.
Doctor explains that one to one sessions have long waiting list and would I consider group work. I hesitate and she pounces on what she calls my reluctance to join a group and asks what my reservations are. Stem frank and immediate reply that rises to my lips to effect that I don't want to be in room full of mad people and instead waffle on about impressions received from film media (have very clear mental image of Doctor in Butlins style red coat coaxing me into being a joiner and making me weave baskets) before plunging into assertion that I am ready to try anything.
Have great and certain sense of foreboding that I will have cause to regret this at some future date.
Saturday, 3 March 2007
Moonlight Serenade
3rd March
Awake from very pleasant dream in which I am living on Montana ranch with the actor Mark Harmon and riding horses in mountains and on the beach. (Unconscious apparently not bothered by minor problem of geographical location of Montana preventing it from having beaches nor does it acknowledge HTB or Mr. Harmon's wife of many years.) Think it best not to explore nature of my enjoyment of dream and indeed its entire existence should probably not be mentioned to HTB at all as really think I am too old to have unsuitable crushes on people.
Burt the Squirrel reappears but is traveling stag, which leads to speculation that Ernie is really Ernetta and is now nesting somewhere. Glorious sunshine also brings a pair of foxes to sun bathe in the garden where they exchange beady looks with the cats and follow the sun from garden to garden. ..
Later it occurs to me that leaving out chicken carcass and eggs that were going off for them to eat in almost exact spot that I intend to build chicken coop possibly not best idea, but as is so often the case in my life it seems like a good idea at the time. Robin Redbreast returns to bird table and I count that 15 of the million bulbs I planted have come up and 5 of them have even flowered, which my Mother says is very good as Bulbs Are Notoriously Tricky.
Green house full of seedlings as leeks, onions, cabbage and sprouts all shoot up, French Lavender resolutely refuses to make appearance and only one bean (query also French and if so is this significant?) out of six germinates. Decide to play French music in greenhouse to see if that helps but can only find Edith Piaf and worry that I may have depressed other plants.
Nevertheless feel very Country Womanish and Green Fingered but don't like to ask what neighbours make of Non Je Ne Regrette Rien booming out from the greenhouse.
Outdoors theme continues in the evening, when bundled in furs and clutching a hot water bottle I watch the most spectacular lunar eclipse and reminisce about how lucky I have been with full moons (Loy Krathong in Thailand and a certain August full moon in Massachusetts spring to mind) sunrises (Hong Kong, Death Valley and Massachusetts) sunsets (Thailand and Salem MA,) and moon rises (Tenerife), not to mention my favorite picture of the Earth rising taken from the Moon which graces the staff canteen in the Boston Museum of Science.
Thursday, 1 March 2007
My Family and Other Animals
1st March
Long break from diary as state of bank account dictates that I take on permanent job when it is offered to me and also sell as many as of my old clothes as possible on eBay.
Most of second half of February therefore taken up greeting and serving coffee to very rich people who already own or wish to buy luxury car and packing parcels of sold clothes for HTB to post, which he generously does.
Get very excited when young man from job agency I signed up with brings in bag with gift for me for attaining permanent position. Am less excited when I open bag to discover a Flake chocolate bar, a cup of coffee and a pen of such dubious quality that young man could have saved us both a great deal of time by walking up to me and throwing ink on my suit.
Recent weekend visit from HTB's children successful and miracle of miracles I don't catch anything. Play strange game in car which involves naming a place, animal (but really living creature as birds and insects accepted as answers), and person's name with each letter of the alphabet and argue over who said Elephant first and I don't think of Eagle until I wake at 3am that night with it in my head. Game leads to further strange incident in local charity shop when HTB's son C asks me in strident tones and apropos of nothing if a Dick is a kind of an animal. Entire shop immediately pretends to be busy while straining ears in my direction and I forgo instinctive response which would be to say It Depends To Whom It Belongs Darling and reply weakly Not Really Darling No before edging away and hissing at HTB to wrangle his children.
Long break from diary as state of bank account dictates that I take on permanent job when it is offered to me and also sell as many as of my old clothes as possible on eBay.
Most of second half of February therefore taken up greeting and serving coffee to very rich people who already own or wish to buy luxury car and packing parcels of sold clothes for HTB to post, which he generously does.
Get very excited when young man from job agency I signed up with brings in bag with gift for me for attaining permanent position. Am less excited when I open bag to discover a Flake chocolate bar, a cup of coffee and a pen of such dubious quality that young man could have saved us both a great deal of time by walking up to me and throwing ink on my suit.
Recent weekend visit from HTB's children successful and miracle of miracles I don't catch anything. Play strange game in car which involves naming a place, animal (but really living creature as birds and insects accepted as answers), and person's name with each letter of the alphabet and argue over who said Elephant first and I don't think of Eagle until I wake at 3am that night with it in my head. Game leads to further strange incident in local charity shop when HTB's son C asks me in strident tones and apropos of nothing if a Dick is a kind of an animal. Entire shop immediately pretends to be busy while straining ears in my direction and I forgo instinctive response which would be to say It Depends To Whom It Belongs Darling and reply weakly Not Really Darling No before edging away and hissing at HTB to wrangle his children.
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