I can't exactly recall if I mentioned that little point or not, really.
I have a great affinity for sailors, young or old. My 'real' father was a sailor with the RN. I'm adopted, which is yet another LONG saga..... My father's name was/is Alan. There aren't any Alan's living here, just a load of Jimmy's, John's and the occasional Tug. These guys are wonderful. I love them to bits.
A Passport photo, you say! Who was your photographer? Snowdon, Bailey, Lichfield or are you just being naturally modest? My passport photo is between me and Passport Control,subject to a signed proviso there is not a guffaw! I promise to leave, they promise I can't come back. I can promise you that in my case, Brucie would leave the Cell Block registration in place along with the lament: 'YOU used to kill ME roses'
Given you're photo, I'm not sure about the sequinned slingbacks -you'll only steal the eligible men - and my final decision will rest upon the haul of Pygmy's pole vault gold medals at Athens; that your stealth was altruistic may stand favourably during the decision making process!
Many thanks for your wonderful comments re my mug shot. It is indeed a true work of art for £1 and 5mins of squinting into a bright light. The immortal words of Gilbert and Sullivan spring to mind immediately.... 'she may very well pass for 43 in the dusk, with the light behind her...'
It came from an extremely user-friendly photo machine on Guildford Station. This machine has since been blown up by Immigration officials, who prefer snarly, non smiling photos these days apparently. Kill joys all...... Anyway, to tell the truth, I was getting a bit sick of incredulous looks from the Gestapo Customs upon entering the UK, as well as lip reading such phrases, as 'You have to be joking, bull****, etc. Such rudeness to a woman of my years......
Still, older age can have its advantages. I've just done a swoop on a small bunch of seriously inebriated teenagers on the first night of the music festival and manged to convince them to part with their collective pocket money, to the tune of £23. Just hope I don't run in to their parents tomorrow! I shall say it was my 'elderly, ugly daughter..'
Must away to bed. Yes, absolutely great news about Magic. I'm so pleased for her.
Have to put a rain check on the flameco for now. I've done my back in highstepping the goo on the kitchen floor.
Had an email from pygmies - they're still running around in Athens and not too keen on coming back to the Great British Summertime - some concerns about shrinkage in the wet I gather. Looks like we'll be in limbo not doing it...
Anyone fancy the Funky Chicken instead?- I've got all the drum sticks and a couple of bags of feathers available for interested punters.
Took the oldies for a run up to Hindhead this morning - we braved the drizzle for a quick walk to the look out. I bought Dad a booklet called 'Who Was The Sailor Murdered at Hindhead in 1786?' There are a couple of photos of Lion Lane and St Stephen's Choir at Shottermill included in the booklet too. Dad has been very happy reading this arvo.
Thanks for the laugh, I was just thinking of throwing myself over the balcony.
Golly gosh and lawks, have I read some sad things and shed a few tears here today and was just thinking of trawling over to this for a little lighthearted relief but sort of stuttered and there you are one step ahead of me. Jeez, your some sort of seer, I swear.
Just off to see the glorious mater, a bit late today, so I'll be onto this one way or another when I get back! Catch you soon.
Your a love
p.s. your pygmies seem like sensible little bods to me...weather!
Pygmies are short on height and long on brains. When the going gets tough, the pygmies get going....... I mean really, WHO wants to live in THIS climate.
For God's sake.... My feet are size 3 and I'm sure they used to be bigger than that! It's ground squelch or something. At this rate, your slingbacks won't fit me.
Now - the Funky Chicken. Here's the recipe.
1 kilo of chicken drum sticks, lightly fried to golden brown [or James Brown if you like]
Garlic - 3 heads [or Talking Heads for preference]
Spices of your choice [Boil the Spice Girls in VERY HOT Midnight Oil until rendered vaguely palatable. They're already tasteless but the Oils will drown them out anyway]
A few Hot Chili Peppers - always good stuff
A couple of celery tops [Four Tops is best]
Chuck this in the oven with a load of vegetables. Dance to Hot Mix Reggae for 45 minutes at a lot more than Three Degrees. Turn out on some Platters and go-go.
Just back from late night shopping but the butcher in sainsbury’s knew nothing about drumming chickens. His exact words were: 'We got chickens that jerk but we don't know nutt'n' about no drummin’ chickens. Sure you ain't got the wrong season and mean turkeys drummin as in the twelve days of Xmas?' 'No', says I, 'and anway that’s drummers drumming at Xmas'. 'Chickens, turkeys we ain’t got no birds a drummin’ and even if we did I don’t like your attitude and wouldn’t give you the parsons nose from either'.
'Well', says I, 'unless I've misread it, feathers off some birds with rythmn are needed; how else am I to be expected to hold my head up come Norman's Garden Party Cussin' Fest...........and talking of attitudes you can kiss the scotch side of my parsons nose' and I took myself off in the highest of dudgeons, and that's a fact. I went to Asda. They called security who were very kind and I've always loved a man in uniform.
Would ya coco, and this is Sainsbury's if you please, missus! Given the choice of Kwiksave and I'd have been knocked out with a frozen drum stick at the onset of intercourse (social) and no questions asked..................and no other answer expected! I'm dreading Waitrose: they'll probably ask me my particular percussive interest and which bird of paradise from whom I would like my plumage plucked.
Now you tell me we're talkin' gastronomy! Not dancin'! And just to compound, whatever it is you do when you compound something (probably a dried chilli), you give me a RECIPE? You want me to eat this? Have you something going on with that Chillian (or howevertheelseyoupronounceorspellit!) in which you have shares - however unspeakable to a blushing maid? I ask you. Enough already! already! I'm not as young as I used to be! and my feet are killing me.
You stand accused and I await your rebuttal with relish (no chillis, understand?)
The Funky Chicken - You can eat it, boogie with it or tuck it in your fandango.. It's a moveable feast really. It's 'I'm going shopping, finger, finger popping' good stuff. Ever tried eating mocking birds - forget it - all those nasty little bones and gristly bits - yucko! Yep - the old Funky Chicken is the way to go.
I need to caution you right here and now about Kentucky Fried Chicken - just DON't even think about it sweetie! There's no soul in those birds. Mind you, if you do get tempted, just order the wings - cats don't have wings after all, do they? You should be a bit safe from botulism and other nasty gerrrrrms.
Sainsbury's have been bit on the iffy side lately with their frozen choooks and CD's. I'm giving them a bit of a wide berth just now. Am currently investigating the new Tesco line of 'Road Runners' which will help with my trekking programme and am confident that the 'Lean Cuisine' will help me shin up those Peruvian peaks in short order.
Nada has been terribly helpful with sending me leather shorts, bibs, braces and yodelling tuition tapes, but to be entirely honest, Julie Andrews 'Climb Every Mountain' isn't having the desired motivational effect - she just makes me want to vomit.
It's such a worry really - what to eat and which will be the really very BEST dance programme to get me boogying up those hills. I'm trying lots of different diets now to lose all the excess flab.
More about these wonderful diets later. I really have to get my beauty sleep in. I need all the help I can get these days, after all.