Lately, I've been attracted to images of Joan of Arc. Well, not exactly her, but images from Wildly Inaccurate Hollywood films made about her.
My favourite Joan of Arc is Ingrid Bergmann. If you didn't know that she was about to be burnt to a crisp, you'd think that she looks Completely Invincible in that Steel Power Suit with Massive Flag & hair blowing madly in the wind.
So, for my purposes, I'm airbrushing out the Flames & the Stake & I'm just thinking of her as Brave & Powerful. Because that's just what I want to be.
But lately I've been feeling like the Wilting Fleur de lis image of Joan in the Silent film version of her life.
Poor old me, trudging along the supermarket aisles at midnight, bemoaning the fact that everything seems to be sold in Big Value Family Packs. What happened to the Single Unit Household? Weren't we the New Growth Industry?
Poor old me, sadly smiling at acquaintances on the street & just knowing that they are saying quietly to each other, 'Do you know he dumped her? She must be unbearable to live with!'
Wait a minute......did I hear the word 'Dumped'?
No, no, NO. Absolutely No More Dumped. (Pardon Me, it's just Sylvia, my Inner Tormentor taking over the reigns for a moment.)
And here she is below. The great thing about Sylvia Fowlmouth is that she really knows how to dress. Look at that hat perched so pertly on her head! And those glaring eyes looking all the world like Really Knowing Fried Eggs hanging off her chest! And her long tapered nails, just this morning painted 'Jungle Red'.
And here I am, wanly smiling up at Sylvia. Sadly, she has a distinct Height Advantage over me. I haven't got a chance.
Until Now. Warrior Joan has just galloped in on her white horse, flag waving, eyes shining.
'Climb aboard', she commands.
'But I can't get up. The horse is too high.'
'Nonsense', says Joan, 'You can do it'.