More Rage

You may remember I got myself all worked up and in a bit of stew in January about
various things to do with travelling on public transport, open legged men with wide open papers using both friggin armrests, kids and their fucking music, dawdling old buggers, feet on seats, smelly people, sniffers, people who cant ride the escalators, ladies putting on their makeup, open mouthed eating, people who cant work the barriers, etc, etc, etc.

I can feel another one coming on.

I’ve been noticing people's habits, foibles, randomness a lot of late… and I can't help but stare. And tut. And curl my lip. And mutter “ewwww” and “yuck” and “you weird dirty fucker” under my breath.

Take Lady-Who-Eats-Her-Eyebrows for example. She seems normal. She dresses quite smart. She has an M&S shopper bag. She has gold rimmed specks. She has pale pink painted nails. But. As she reads her paper, she randomly tugs at the hair in her eyebrows, backwards, and then once she’s pulled out a few choice strands SHE EATS THEM. Oh yes she does.

Take Man-Who-Can’t-Leave-His-Crotch-Alone. He’s kind of young, maybe 32. He wears a suit and has spiky hair. He has a beaten up old brown leather satchel type briefcase that he neatly stores by his feet. But. As he reads his copy of The Economist he is forever fiddling with the creases in his trousers at his groin. Not just adjusting them once or twice as he sits down and settles himself. Oh no. Every 60 seconds or so. Literally. He neatly “arranges” himself. He reads AT MOST 3 lines of whatever article has caught his eye, then he closes the magazine and rearranges himself AGAIN. And again. And again. Over and over and over again…. Looney. Surely.

Take Pulls-The-Skin-Around-Her-Nails-Till-It-Bleeds-Lady. She is a stunning, very very attractive Indian lady. Slim, great hair, trouser suits and immaculate make up. And yet. Her hands look shocking. Genuinely shocking. The skin around her nails has been pulled and picked and torn and nibbled till it literally bleeds. And still she doesn’t stop. The whole journey she is picking. It looks so very very sore, and yet, still she picks.

Take Old-Man-With-Itchy-Scalp. He’s not really old. At least, probably not much older than my mum. And he looks average, you know, not too smart, not too casual. I don’t know what he does for a living, I couldn’t hazard a guess, but sweet god I wish he’d wash his bloody hair. Cause he is forever scratching his head. And the flakes keep on falling. And he examines the dirt, or the scalp, or the skin bits or whatever it is that get caught behind his nails. And he uses his thumbnail to dig the debris out. And he flicks it. Yep, flicks it. And once or twice it’s fallen in my direction. And it’s all I can do to stop myself hurling…

And then there are the hundreds of nose pickers and ear diggers. Do these people think they have an invisibility shield around them or something? WE CAN SEE YOU. So every time you pick your nose, examine the contents and then eat it – I CAN SEE YOU. When you dig out your ears, look at the wax, roll it into a wee ball and smear it on the seat cover – I AM WATCHING YOU. You disgust and repulse me. You turn my stomach and make me hate you. Save your toilette for the privacy of your own home. No-one wants to see you.

A Tonic

The Birthday Lunch Club reconvened for the third time this year, this time to celebrate Mrs Darlings (really!) day of being special.

She had requested fancy pants up the big smoke - so off we popped to J Sheekeys for some fish fabulousness, then along to Verve for some tails-of-cock.

Sweet Lord what a giggle we had. All the girls were on top form and I can't remember the last time I laughed so hard at nothing...

Further Investigations Reveal

Boo has promised that we can go for a ride or a wander every weekend we have free... how very lovely, and literally 5 minutes from our doorstep.

Who knew....

that this was at the bottom of my road?




I will go on another adventure this weekend and see what else I can see...

On a separate note, not last night but the night before I got drunk. I don't mean tipsy, or squiffy or a little bit collapso. I mean inappropriate, uncoordinated, picking-a-fight-on-the-way-home drunk.

Oh it was lovely.

Gerry is back from the US for a couple of weeks to celebrate her fauxforty birthday - she last came over last year, or was it the year before, and those of us in the old Big W gang got together down an alley for some drinks.

This time a select few got together by the river for some drinks and some chips.

We also saw Harry Hill, Will Young and M'Bayo's new girlfriend who is the most biggest hottie I've seen for years. Honest to goodness, hottie hot hot. So hot that I think I blushed and giggled when she spoke to me. Yep, SHE SPOKE TO ME. I think I love her a little...

Happy Wednesday

You know I said I treated myself to a sneaky bookshop shop last week… well, I finished The Second Husband by the lovely Louise Candlish at the weekend; and I have to share the love. Louise is a beautiful writer. What started out as a love affair with her chicklit style in Prickly Heat progressed to women’s fiction greatness in The Double Life and shifted up a further gear with contemporary women’s fiction title Since I Don’t Have You which left me in bits… and this latest title is just brilliant. The "brand Candlish" is well on it's way to securing it's permanent place on the Top 10 FOS shelves of all good bookshelves, with echos of Jodi Picoult in style and the love child of Katie Fforde and Maggie O'Farrell in content. My one and only negative is that the blurb on the back and tag on the front of the book reveal just a hint too much of the plot....'there are some things a mother and daughter should never share'. It doesn't really take a genius to work out what those things are.



I also finished a proof I've had lying about for a year or so Fifty Is Not a Four-letter Word by Linda Kelsey, the former editor of Cosmo and SHE. It's a sort of generation jump for Bridget Jones - Hope hits 50, gets sacked from her high powered job as a (wait for it) editor of a glossy women's mag, gets dumped by her long suffering husband, has a bit of a fling in Paris with a hunky American and feels sorry for herself for a bit... till she turns her life around for the better. As I'm closer to 50 than I am to my 20's - I did enjoy this. But thank Christ I'm not quite close enough to completely connect with the twists and turns of Hope's life.

On a separate note, The Mother and I had a lovely afternoon at Sadlers Wells at the end of July, watching the sell out West Side Story. You have to get up very early to beat a classic like this - but the 50th anniversary production has all the good bits you remember from the film, plus a great new set and adorable new cast. No wonder the critics that know about such stuff have had a tricky time finding any faults....

With just 9 months now to go till the Big Day (yep, I know, I know.....) Boo and I made a trip up the M4 to meet our cake lady - Lisa. Oooooh the loveliness involved in choosing cakes can't be beaten. Other than, of course, eating them. We've ripped off some creations we saw in a wedding magazine, and added our own twist and come up with 4 different designs which we hope will look adorable together. Boo likes fruit cakes, so we will have 10 of them. I like Victoria sponge; so we are having 10 of them as well. That's 2 per person, and 2 spare for me and Him to take home as reminders....or to scoff later on in bed.

Last but not least, Melly launched ParkLife (boot camp style fitness circuit training thing) last night. I did some skipping, a hint of jogging, and even won the three legged race... and now my butt hurts. She was very whistle-happy, but it was great fun despite the wet grass and passing squirrel attention. If you live in Ealing or the surroundings you should come. Every Tuesday, 6.15pm, meet at the entrance to Walpole Park outside Pitshanger Manor. Mail melbeves@hotmail.co.uk for more info.