Monthly archives "April 2011"

Easter Makes You Old

For some reason my brain is searching constantly for evidence of my progression into, let’s call it middle age.
Easter presented me with just such ammunition as we celebrated the festival with an all-time low of three eggs; well five if you count the two Cadbury’s Creme Eggs which arrived on my desk at work encased in a chocolate shell; well two eggs and a Lindt Gold Bunny. Meg has wanted one ever since she became sensitive to advertising and now, probably fifteen years later, she is the proud owner of a mutilated lump of chocolate with a bell around it’s neck.
She may be eighteen now but she was press-ganged into the annual march around the house also known as ‘The Easter Egg Hunt’ which, this year, took the guise of ‘warmer-colder’.
Sensing my distress at impending old-age and disappointment at Meg’s lack of commitment, Jeff decided I should have my own game of ‘warmer-colder’ and fiendishly stashed my creme eggs in various (well, two) places around the home.
Can you spot one?

You Can Stand Under My Umbrella

I went to buy sunglasses last week as the dog had trashed my old ones. Every woman at risk of crows-feet will tell you they’re a wardrobe essential.

I stood hopelessly in Boots with absolutely no clue what suits me, terrified that the ones I’d buy would make me look like a bad Roy Orbison impersonator.

Meg rang to say she’d finished college and could meet me for lunch so I ordered her to hotfoot it over to the Chemists to give me style advice. It was then I noticed the sign on the display which told me that if I had a voucher I could get them for half the price. This put me in a dilemma. I desperately needed to buy sunnies before the constant squinting due to the unexpected good weather caused the onset of deep wrinkles. However, with said voucher, I could spend the summer looking like a girl (shut up) who can afford designer wear and, being a Boots whore, it’s absolutely certain that I’ll have one by the end of the month.
In desperation, I scoured the floor in the hope that someone without the need for UV protection had discarded their coupon. I even considered hanging around the tills for half an hour badgering customers to find out if they were going to use their voucher, like some kind of pharmacy vagrant.

By the time Meg turned up, I’d decided to leave the purchase to later in the month, instead I bought an umbrella and a purse.
It hasn’t rained since.
My purse and umbrella from Accessorize

I Can’t Believe I Can’t Eat Butter!

I remember being at a family ‘do’ about 18 years ago and my nan declaring at the buffet table ‘I can’t take butter’. I didn’t understand it, how can she not be able to eat butter?? Well now I know.

I’ve had to resort to the work of the devil that is REAL butter. Not your ‘utterly’ or ‘can’t believe’ or ‘buttery(ish)’ but the full-on-artery-cloggin’ straight from the cows udder (isn’t it?) butter.

I use dairy spreads because they do that; spread. I can’t be arsed with shaving off slithers from a solid block because I didn’t know I’d fancy a sandwich 2 hours earlier so didn’t get it out to defrost. Plus, Jeff uses butter and likes to leave memories of everything his knife has been in contact with all over the top of it.

But, call me a less than perfect domestic goddess, I forgot to add spread to my on-line shopping list.

Jeff points out I could pop over the shop and buy some – pah! It’s 40p dearer and I don’t think they take switch for £2.40 – if I get £10 out the cash machine I’ll blow the rest on the latest copy of The Lady magazine so, technically, it will cost me £10. Outrageous!

The result is I’ve discovered why my nan couldn’t ‘take butter’, when you get over 40 it gives you acid. Great. One more reminder of my ever ageing body parts.

Can you still buy marg?