I’d never seen Masterchef until this week and now I’m hungggrrrry for it.
I fast forward through all the cooking and crying and crises to the tasting bit when Greg Wallace (he’s got a head that looks like it’s been peeled) and John Torrode put a food loaded fork into their exceptionally large gobs and, without any inhibitions, make the sort of noises men usually only make with their trousers down.
I have an induction at a gym next week. Well it is Gym-uary so I thought I’d give it a go.
Today I got a call from the receptionist to check that I planned to turn up. She told me to come ready and dressed to do exercise. She didn’t wait for me to answer before saying, “Nice loose top, nice loose trousers and some nice comfy trainers. Lovely!”
I was slightly flabberdegasted – what did she think I was planning to wear? A ballgown?
My PIN number is a secret. Even from me.
My bank has responded to my request for a PIN number three times in a row. I’ve followed their instructions in the envelope with precision. I get my implements ready to scratch and expose the number - a rubber, a coin, a flat surface.
After I failed to crack the PIN code the first two times I created laboratory conditions in my kitchen to be certain to reveal the number on my third try. No dust, no dog, no radio no cooking vapours or steam. But after I scratched the little panel I still could not read the bleedin’ soddin’ number.
I know it’s against every principle of PIN numbering but in desperation I took the letter to my neighbour to see if she could read it. I asked the postman who delievered the damn letter if he could decipher the number and when they both admitted defeat I even drove to my sister who has recently had laser eye surgery to test whether her new improved £5,000 eyes could crack the code, but she couldn’t. I called the bank and number four is on it’s way to test my sanity.
I need a psychic not a rubber and a coin before I can enjoy a hole in the wall visit again.
I realised I had left my purse at home after the cashier had totalled my trolley load of shopping last night. I summoned the cavalry (my husband on his pushbike bearing my debit card) and promised her I would pay in 15 minutes.
Satisfied but not at all smiley she used her thumb to direct me to a bench by the tills. There were two other people sat on it already. When I joined them the man nearest said ” Coppers coming for you an’all?” “No! I forgot my purse” I informed him. Thinking back I said it in a very Sunday School voice. The woman sat on the far end was using her stomach to keep her knees warm , cackled “Good one, that. You want me to keep him busy so you can run out? I do a real good faint.”
‘Him’ was a seven foot tall bald guard who looked like he’d varnished the top of his pointy head, and was obviously on naughty bench duty. Just his stare made me want to confess to something I hadn’t done.
I declined her kind offer and then she asked could I maybe faint for her instead?
By the time my husband arrived the three people on the bench didn’t even notice me leaving. They were busy bragging about the largest stuff they had ever got away with nicking. A rose bush, 2 tins of Celebrations and a catering size pizza were apparently among their recent hauls.
The security guard frowned at me as I walked by and I felt compelled to confess that I’d nicked a rubber from Woolworths in 1968, but swore I’d gone straight since then.
It’s 2am and I can’t sleep because I am still freaked after reading Michelle Paver’s petrifyingly pee-inducing book ‘Dark Matter’ – but tonight it doesn’t ‘matter’ all because the Golden Globes are on TV……. and they have a STILETTO CAM on the red carpet!!! Yes they bloody well do! Wake up all of you and come see!
It’s a genius invention – a world famous celebrity places her foot onto the outline of a footprint on the red carpet which is actually a camera…………… and delivers a 360 degree look at her shoes.
I am so excited I have just channelled Belinda Carlisle and sang ‘Heaven is a Place on Earth’ to myself and my pom pom slippers.
The best new horror show of 2012 is Countdown, now compered by Nick Hewer of The Apprentice.
He is frequently lost for words – on Countdown! – and his pet get out of trouble phrases are “Gooooooood” and “Very gooooooooood.” His embarrassment is bad for my rosacea, I am suffering along with him every afternoon.
But Nick has a sneery demeanour that stops me feeling too sorry for him. It’s killing the charm of the dinky afternoon show stone dead. Countdown contestants are playing the game for a teapot prize and are entitled to a lot of neck nuzzling and tummy raspberries from the host. And they ain’t getting any Nick love.
In his first couple of days, round by round throughout the game, he was barking “Step back from the clock!” at the sweet and pretty Rachel. She’s the bargain sum-head who took over from Carol Vorderman and I reckon she has cried a lot in the fortnight since Nick started work on the programme.
His worst offence is that when a round is over and the contestants declare how many letters are in their words Nick repeats it with disdain. Think Lady Bracknell with balls - he does an exceptionally cutting “FIVE?”
How Nasty Nick landed the job as Countdown compere is a conudrum, and I will be expecting a teapot for my two “FIVE?” letter words, “You’re fired!”
This Christmas my three daughters got new Uggs. Those boots were made for flying – they came to London from Australia via Boston USA. This is because my son, who is a frequent traveller there for business, bought them for £120 per pair less than they cost here. What an Ugging rip off for UK dead sheep on the feet devotees.
On Boxing Day my husband gathered up the girls’ smelly and stained Ugg cast offs from last year, and dashed into his garage. He keeps a sewing box in there busting with beer bottle tops, magnets, wire wool and needles the size and shape of bananas.
Several hours later he emerged wearing what looked like a camel’s labia on his head. Only it has funky buttons on one half. He had cut up the boots and fashioned himself the Uggliest hat I have ever seen.
He has been wearing his furry fanny hat when walking the dog and thinks he has a) saved money, and b) made himself look like a handsome trapper. He swears he is attracting admiring glances.
AND now he is eyeing my Birkenstocks and wondering if he could maybe make himslef a natty cork visor for the summer months…..
I am so excited with my special Christmas present from my daughters. It is a work of art, a thing of beauty and totally original. It has an unequalled sense of proportion and balance. In my expert opinion my present is priceless.
My gift? An airing cupboard blitz: the girls hoovered it out, then ironed all the sheets, duvets and pillowcases before putting them back in size order. Bath towels got refolded and rearranged - darkest colours at the bottom, lightest on top. Hand and face towels were stacked in a jaunty separate pile close by.
I feel like a new woman. It’s as though they’ve tidied my brain. It has made me ridiculously happy.
So I share with you all my airing cupboard good tidyings, and I hope everything jingles beautifully for you this Christmas. And may 2012 bring you the best of all things.
X
My favourite part of the Strictlyganza final was the group dance. Who knew that Dan Lobb and Rory Bremner had been contestants this year? Edwina hefted on to the floor wearing a dress that was pure Queen Mother and facial expressions that were totally porn star, and Anita emoted all over the place all over again.
Coffin hag Nancy confirmed that she has wide apart knees that would have been so perfect for the Charleston - had she got far enough into the competition to dance it.
Tess dolled up in a half frock, half shower curtain dress and Alesha’s number was a Brillo Pads exclusive design.
No surprises on the night: Jason should change his name to Earnest, The Only Way is Chelsee came a worthy second and Harry McFlew through the competiton as the bookie’s certain winner from week one.
This series I ate a lot of cheese, saw a lot of cheese and loved every minute of it.
Only 300 and something sleeps until next year’s Strictly……….
Tonight I was sat at the kitchen table enjoying a mug of tea and a dunked digestive and skimming a slimming magazine when I heard my name on the radio.
It was a ’phone-in programme, Iain Dale’s on LBC, and the topic was favourite books of 2011 – and someone rang in to talk about mine! It was a nice lady from Chiswick who said ‘Me and Mine’ was her book of the year and even a contender for the best book she’d ever read.
Can time sparkle? I say yes. At least it did for me tonight.
