My salad dressing days

Of sliding doors and cropped cardigans
November 30, 2005, 8:14 pm
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In my more wistful moments, I sometimes imagine that I might have been the short-haired, elfin-featured, pale-skinned singer in an otherwise male-dominated indie band.

I would have worn vintage clothing and had a wardrobeful of cropped, home-knitted cardigans.

I would have sung with my hands clasped behind my back and bobbed my head lightly from side to side in the instrumental parts of the songs. I may have tapped on a tambourine and shuffled around next to the bass guitarist.

If asked in media interviews what my interests were, I would have responded earnestly: saving the planet and the organic food movement.

But I might have been damned irritating, like a female version of Chris ‘I hate capitalism but please buy my new CD’ Martin.

So, it’s all worked out for the best really.

**scribbles reminder to self to send off application to The X Factor 2006**


‘Among the leaves’
November 29, 2005, 4:07 pm
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Posted by Picasa
Image reproduced with the artist’s permission. Click here to visit Anita Klein’s website.

Busy, distracted but strangely compelled to blog
November 29, 2005, 1:27 pm
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So I bring you a little poem by Helen Farish entitled ‘Coffin Path Poem’:

My habit of late-night walking
will mirror my life, how in its twilight
I’ll rush out saying, how beautiful –
has it been like this all day?

From ‘Intimates’ (2005), published by Jonathan Cape.

Zip, nada, zilch
November 28, 2005, 2:54 pm
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There once was a chick from the city
Who thought herself terribly witty.
Then one winter’s day,
With nothing to say,
She cooed over shoes that were pretty.

Anger-inducing dust-gatherers
November 25, 2005, 2:38 pm
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The shoe low on toe grippage

If socks make Little Blonde Niece cross (and they do), then these shoes make me cross.

They are screaming out to be worn to an urbane cocktail party* but they’re just so cross-making to wear. Wear them in summer without tights and the faintest trace of perspiration will see your foot slithering around and eventually slipping out. No amount of toe-grippage is gonna keep your feet in and I’m not prepared to go to parties and stand in one spot for two hours (how am I gonna get to the hors d’oeurves, frinstance?). Wear them in winter with tights, and, unless you have little rubber suction pads on the foot, you will experience similar slippage and slithering.

But do you think I can throw them out?



* should I EVER be invited to one, that is

Some of my best friends are chromophobes
November 24, 2005, 1:47 pm
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And so it came to pass that I made my inaugural visit to my local TK Maxx. And yes, that would be the branch where star-crossed cyber-lovers met to carry out their joint suicide pact in the car park. How quaint.

‘You need to set aside a couple of hours – y’know, for the rifling – you need to rifle,’ advised my sis wisely.

Ooh. Rifling. Sounds fun. I have never (knowingly) rifled before.

I set out with my habitual shopping mantra: This Time I Will Not Gravitate To Black. This Time I Will Not Gravitate To Black.

And when I get deeper into the chanting, I say to myself: Must pepper wardrobe with Colour! Patterns! Interesting Necklines! After all, I know it is only a matter of time before a friend refers me to Trinny and Susannah. Flash-forward to T&S screaming in horror when they open my wardrobe (‘Black is NOT A COLOUR! Suze: get the pinking scissors. Out out out!). This is after they’ve felt me up in the 360 degree mirror room, of course.

One quick swoosh later and the automatic doors have thrown me straight into the handbag section. I briefly consider clasping my hands together and gazing heavenwards to express my gratitude to the God I am now willing to imagine might actually exist.

The first half hour, therefore, is spent fondling and sniffing handbags galore. But there are too many, too many that I want. Need. Neeeeeeeeeeeed. I am, most uncharacteristically, overcome with the most unseemly bout of indecision.

And so I move away (vowing to return later) towards the kids’ section. An hour later and my trolley is chock full of toys and clothes for the chicklets.

Oh gawd, I have left so precious little time for The Rifling. My sis said: ‘at least two hours’. Glancing at my watch, I realise I have but 17 minutes. I am panicking now…

But you know, it’s not that hard to pick out all the black items on a mile-long rack. I quickly talk myself round: this black top, well, it will go so well with EVERYTHING, ANYTHING (of course what I mean is: it will go so well with MORE BLACK). As will those trousers…and that coat. Who wants a cream coat, forgodssakes? Think of the drycleaning bills! Gosh, I am so practical. Motherhen would be proud. After all, it was from her that I inherited the the GTB (Gravitate To Black) gene mutation.

I am all smiles at the till. I trill a merry tune, much to the shop assistant’s despair. ‘Beautiful day, isn’t it?’ I chirp. He rolls his eyes.

But as I am leaving, I feel a little giddy. I put my hand to my forehead: I think I may have a slight fever. I lean against the car door for a few minutes to gather myself together. I clutch at my mobile phone and wonder whether it’s too late to get an emergency appointment with the doctor.

Then I realise what it is: I left the store without buying a handbag. So I rush back in to buy the one I’d lingered over longest (23 minutes). But hey! It’s a Christmas present (probably) for my sister (maybe). Gimme a break, guys!

There’s no accounting for taste
November 23, 2005, 1:32 pm
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I pity the poor folk who find my blog when they are looking for something more exciting. So I can only guess at the deep sense of disappointment felt by the person who ended up here having searched Yahoo for ‘defecating women photos’.