A COMPLEX WOMAN

“Excuse me for stareing at you but you intrigue me, you look like a very complex woman, like an actress” said the not so bad looking man who parked his car beside mine in the village today.  I did see him looking at me and it was a very nice sort of looking indeed – a ‘how are you doing‘ sort of look.  “Thank you very much” I replied coyly smiling before I departed to hit the stores.  I was actually feeling pretty chipper at the time it has to be said because I got some lovely news in this morning’s post.  AND I was wearing the delightful coat that my friend A gave me which makes me look like a character out of Downton Abbey – one of the upstairs characters I might add.  I was sorry that I had only smeared a dash of Chanel lippy across mes levres rather than the whole shaboolah that I normally don before facing my public – if I had he would have really been mesmerised.  I am not one of these snowflakes who start the march when they hear a compliment.  Frankly I’m quite amazed to hear them at this late stage in the race.  Tesco in the village have voted not to go on strike by a narrow vote – one of their employees told me that they reckoned that it was suMiss D takes charge 008ch a close knit community here that no one would pass the picket.  It was totally charming to hear that we are a close knit community – the very words warm my heart.  Meanwhile I am reading a snippet from the current work in progress in the Irish Writers Centre tomorrow night if anyone wants to see the famous coat.  Night night.  Chat soon.

Tootle

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AN EARLY START!

So I finally managed to leave the nest when the alarm went off at 8 this morning and repair to the study and the book in progress.  It wasn’t too bad really despite my wanting to go back to the sack around eleven.  However I pushed through and have survived. Now the trick is not to stay up late and watch shite on the tellybox which is my usual downfall in the taming of the errant body clock. A walk in the park mid afternoon restored oxygen levels and kept the show on the road.  I am currently watching a programme about how people in Britain managed for food during the war and rationing.  I was a ‘boomer’ and came in at the end of rationing.  However my mother never really left rationing behind especially as she had been employed by the government here in Eire to go around the country and teach people how to cook with very few ingredients.  Hence a childhood of eating healthy but not enticeing foods accompanied by the advice “there’s nothing wrong with it – it’s good for you – eat it”.  I didn’t always and it led to many childhood battles.  I have just learnt why our Christmas cake every year had a big paper thing around it – there weren’t enough ingredients during rationing to put icing on cakes – so they decorated them with paper instead!  I’ll say one thing for that era – there weren’t too many fatties around the place!  Kids went out and climbed trees and ate what they could – which didn’t include readily available burgers and chips and big bars of chocolatephoto0840_001 because they didn’t exist.  Chat soon.

Tootle

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RING RING

Writing is a lonely business so when your phone begins to shake rattle and roll and then start singing a French pop song from the 1970s (Made in Normandie) (my ring tone) excitement builds especially if you have sent out three chapters of your manuscript to a possible agent and a publishing company.  But alas as soon as I picked up it rang off – all within the space of ten seconds.  My little heart was raised in hope and then dashed again against the rock of reality.  But my brain still functioned so I dialled the number that came up and a voice told me that the person at extension 1045 was not available.  They were available a few seconds ago so fuck them.  Meanwhile I’m still struggling with my chapter on Las Vegas – I think the problem is that I always keep a travel journal and it is bursting with facts – too many but that I really felt about Las Vegas was that photo0739_001it was a hole – the 7th circle of Hell in fact and that I’m sorry I bothered to go there although it was half way between Phoenix Arizona and San Diego where I was going to hang out with Pam for a few days in Cardiff on Sea.  But you can’t write a chapter saying it was a hole – end of.  Although Prince Harry managed to find a good time there in a hot tub and the Red Tops found plenty to write about that.  Travel litterature requires more depth one feels.  Will persist – nihil desperandum as the man says. Chat soon.

Tootle

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DE WRITIN CLASS

Someone in the writing class went on and and on and on and on about their life in a way which sucked both the life blood and the will to live out of me.  So by the time I finally got to have a bowl of soup and a glass of ‘Sauv Blanc’ in my fav hostellry, the goodness of it was nearly gone.  But alas good conversation and reminiscing about the ‘good old days‘ in Dublin with wit and repartee brought the ship back into sunny waters once more.  “Do you remember ‘Le Coq Hardi’ said my chum S.  “Oh indeed I do, I remember the night a loud and obnoxious woman returned from the Ladies with her Gina Fratini dress tucked into her knickers and the entire restaurant let out a roar of laughter”.  We enjoyed simple pleasures in those days and were amused by little things like a soupcon of delicious gossip about whom was dining with whom in the darkened corner.  Gina Fratini in case you didn’t know was a very chi chi designer at the time who made everyone look like Bo Peep.  Which didn’t really work if you were over forty and fat – which seemed to be the only demographic who could afford her frocks.  Meanwhile back in the ‘des res’ the boy played his own compositions on the baby grand all evening and the oldest one went out to a Greek evening.  I was thinking Hadjidakis and Feta – but apparently not – they listened to modern Greek pop music – my tastes are apparently old hat.  Mrs Dreary has just gone off in her big tank of a car – either to take part in the war in Iran or the local shops – her dress code suits either.  It is the time of the year when suburban hausfraus don the padded waistcoat when driving the children to school in the SUV.  Anyway – have a lovely day.  Chat soon.

Tootle

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AFTERNOON TEA IN CLARIDGES

Am currently watching a documentary on RTE 2 about Claridges Hotel in London.  The style and attention to detail is breathtaking.  I like breathtaking style, it’s my favourite kind.  One day before I die I am going to have afternoon tea there. It’s £50 ahead including a glass of champagne and little chocolate buns.  Not too bad I suppose.  Apparently you have to book two or three months in advance.   Of course it should be to celebrate something rather splendid – whatever that will be.  A birthday will not suffice – my birthdays from now on are no cause for celebration. The manager in Claridges is a funny little German lad – who smiles so much it can’t be true – he’s the sort of man you’d wonder what it would take to make him go ‘fuck, fuck fuckity fuck’.  Here’s a thought – would you sleep with anyone to get a night in a suite at Claridges? given that they cost 6,000 a night.  Personally the answer is no but I imagine there are people who would say yes.  Those people will do well.  I on the other hand  do not do well and I only have my standards keep me warm at night – them an an elderly cat.  Meanwhile the writing class in Dalkey happens in the morning for which I have penned an essay on ‘love’.  It’s a nice little essay even if I do say so myself but it shall never see the darkness of print because it names names in Irish society who have behaved themselves in a manner that is not lovable.  It’s always the famous ones who let the side down and do appalling things when drunkCNV00031.  Chat soon.

Tootle

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A CONFIDENT CHILD

While I was driving to the gym yesterday a small girl child and her small brother approached the kerb – the boy said “wait, there’s a car coming” – the small girl, aged about 7 slowly walked out in front of my car and stared at me – dareing me to run her down.  One day somebody will.  There will be a truck driver who does not care for children.  There are parents and teachers who teach 7 year olds that they are in command of the Universe – sometimes this is good – and sometimes it leads to obnoxious children.  Like the ones I see in the Executive Changeing Room in the gym who are there with their mothers.  The princesses are independant beyond their years and tiny ones say to their doting mothers who are trying to dry them and their hair after a shower “Mother, don’t touch me, get your hands off me” because they know this will cause the reaction they require. Mother does what she is told because she is afraid that she will be put on a sex offenders list and offend the P.C. brigade ( who are always offended – about everything ) and loses the battle – she also loses the war. The P.C. brigade have already won their war against right minded humanity.  Mother needs to stop bringing the little bitches to swimming in the first place and make them stay at home and tidy their rooms and do their homework.  On the other hand today was a full day of writing and I could think of nothing to say about my trip to Las Vegas except that it was a hell hole for someone who is not addicted to bling and gambling and big shiney stars – not much of a chapter in that.  Will I leave it out or try and come up with something – that is the current photo0037question.  Chat soon.

Tootle

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MY VALENTINE

Many years ago a male person jumped out of me on Valentines Day – he was my first born son – so he was and is my Valentine boy. The only post I got today was from the gym to tell me my membership was due for renewal and that if I paid up a month in advance I’d get 3 free personal training sessions.  I fell for that one last year and still haven’t used them!  Meanwhile a woman with an Indian accent phoned me at 8 o’clock this morning to tell me that two transactions had been made on my Visa card and did I want to verify them.  I could not think of anything witty to say so I just put the phone down.  On the other hand it could have been a genuine Indian woman working for Visa.  Anyway I rang Visa and they had not phoned me and there were no recent transactions.  I’d heard of this scam before – can’t help wondering where the cunts got my phone number from.  But the good news is that I stayed up then and am now about to launch into the book so thank you Mrs Cunt – and the cats appreciate it too because they got an early breakfast without having to nudge me in the head a dozen times.  Out side my study window there is distraction – men in high viz clothing are digging a hole in the road – apparently they are ‘trial holes and GPR investigation – whatever that is – anyway they have two men employed with ‘Stop’ and ‘Go’ signs as part of a ‘Traffic Management’ plan -which is hilarious as there is no traffic on my road – it is a cul-de-sac and what little traffic there is has been and gone to work and won’t return until this evening – and yet the eejits stand there at a cost to the tax payer.  At first I thought it was a student film – no – it’s real. Still I can’t help wondering how they decide to turn the signs around when there are no cars coming?dscn0938  Chat soon.

Tootle

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