Stranger in Moscow

Up until now, I've been patting myself on the back for My Low Key Approach to the death of Michael Jackson.  Admittedly, I did enjoy reading all the salacious little tidbits like when they took his wig off after he died, there was only 'peach fuzz', or was it 'peach fizz' underneath? Sounds more like a non-alcoholic cocktail than something that might grow on a person's head, don't you think?

When the news broke, I was at school. I suppose I'll remember that forever, like I remember where I was when I found out Elvis was dead (lining up for crap food at a cafeteria at University) or when JFK died (in bed in my family home being minded by my Grandmother, who burst into my bedroom with the news. I was shattered, which seems odd since I was only ten & definitely Not an American) 

When I found out about Michael,  a deeply respected fellow colleague who will remain nameless so she doesn't appear heartless, immediately reminded me that he was a pedophile & therefore not worth mourning . I was instantly relieved.  

I went about My Life thinking that I'd gotten out of  Michael's death unscathed.  I didn't watch one single thing on TV about him. I watched Nature Programs instead.

Until last night. There was absolutely nothing on TV which is always a continual source of amazement to me considering the hundreds of channels that my television claims to have. So, I was forced to watch the last few minutes of 'Larry King Live'. At first, all I could do was stare at Larry's appearance & marvel at his hair. Now, that's what I call, 'Peach Fuzz'. Then I realised that he was talking about Himself & Michael. Larry gave us a blow by blow description of every time he'd ever met him, including the time he attended one of Michael's concerts at some huge stadium & could only see him with the aid of binoculars. If you can count that as a time you 'met' someone, then I can safely say that I 'met' the Beatles because I went to one of their concerts when I was eleven. 

Anyway, Larry whetted my appetite for more . So, I turned to MTV , who of course were Milking Michael to the Max. I watched song after song. That's what always happens to me when I watch those music stations. I say to myself, 'I'll just wait & see what the next clip is', & then it's five hours later & I'm still watching them. 

Most of them were pretty good, although I found myself Slightly Sneering at the ever-present wind machines blowing up a gale & Michael's persistent Christ-on-the-Cross pose in 'Earth Song'.

But my mood totally changed when they played, 'Stranger in Moscow'. 

I couldn't believe it. 

Here was the song that totally summed up how life has been for me in the eleven months since Mr. Ex-Middleaged left.

'How does it feel?

How does it feel?

How does it feel?

How does it feel?

How does it feel?

When you're alone & cold inside

Like

Stranger in Moscow

Like

Stranger in Moscow'.

That's Me.

Ear Chandeliers

It's sunday night. I've just eaten a couple of v. unsatisfactory supposedly organic sausages & some roasted vegetables. Now I'm Multi-Tasking.

Yes, I'm sitting huddled in front of a little two-bar radiator typing. I'm also waiting.  That's two tasks.

 Perhaps most people would not consider waiting to be an task. I beg to differ. 

And maybe  you're wondering what I am waiting for. I'm waiting for the next episode of Agatha Christie's 'Miss Marple' to begin on TV.

Ever since I gave up reading Enid Blyton, I have been obsessed with Agatha's Great Detectives - Hercule Poirot & to a lesser extent, Miss Marple. There's something incredibly comforting & cozy about people being murdered in the library of a large English Country House with a whole gaggle of  dysfunctional weekend house guests as suspects. And I just love getting whipped up into a frenzy by all the Red Herrings that Agatha generously throws about.

The other thing is that I can never guess who the murderer is. Even if I've read the book or seen the episode before. More than once.  It's a little favour that my Mind does for me so I'm Always  in Suspense. What a great way to live.

Anyway, this wasn't supposed to be a Blog Post about Me & Miss Marple. So, I'm not going to say any more about it because I'm In Charge.

This post is supposed to be about Me & My Ear Chandeliers.  I bought them quite recently at my favourite Cheap Jewel Shop in the Mall, 'Diva'.  They were only seven bucks. I have a rule when buying from 'Diva': I only buy stuff when it's Significantly On Sale. It's another way of achieving Abundance Through Frugality.

Anyway, as you can imagine, the Ear Chandeliers attract quite a lot of attention, which of course is something that I crave. But I'm not quite sure if it's really the Right Kind. Instead of saying something like, 'Oh, I just Love your Earrings', people can't help saying, 'Aren't your ears sore?' 

I always instantly snap, 'NO'.  And I'm not lying. Maybe my ears have become De-Sensitized from years of  carrying heavy weights. What a shame that the rest of me hasn't followed suit. I would just soooo love to sail through life Not Feeling a Thing, instead of being constantly gripped by some awful thought. 

Back to the Ear Chandeliers. 

On saturday I wore them to 'Bednobs & Broomsticks' Thrift Shop. 

When I walked in, Cherie, The Cheerful Assistant, took one look at them & said:

'You know, your ears remind me of my Great Grandmother Sibyl's Ears, who died three days short of her 100th birthday. She wore v. heavy gold earrings all her life & by the time she died, the holes in her lobes were the size of Large Peas.'

It's great to know that I've got 100 year-old Ear Lobes.

My Slightly Rotting Bruno Magli Shoe Collection

I imagine that there are many people out there who find the idea of wearing Someone Elses Shoes Simply Disgusting. Particularly if that Someone Else is now Dead.

If I thought about it for too long, like longer than it would take me to write this Blog Post, I may well be One of Those People. 

Fortunately, I am not going to allow myself to think about it. I am not going to imagine my Dear Little Foot snugly squeezing into a shoe which contains the imprint of another foot & perhaps some of their residue sweat as well. 

It's probably a Bit Late to be all of a sudden Queasy about it as I've been wearing what might be described as 'Dead Shoes' for years. 

And I haven't had a Hint of Gangrene. All of my toes are intact. And there's no sign of infection either.

Now that we've got that Settled, I must tell you about Me & Bruno Magli.

In case you don't know anything, Bruno Magli is an Italian Upscale Shoe Brand that were heavily featured in the OJ Simpson trial. Magli's 'Lorenzo' men's shoe was somehow linked to the killer but OJ denied ever owning a pair & even called them 'bad ass' even though there was definite photographic evidence of him wearing a pair at a football match.

Anyway, I'm suddenly finding pairs of Maglis at 'Bednobs & Broomsticks', my Magical Thrift Shop which I'm sure has got nothing to do with OJ. I imagine that there's this One Wealthy Elderly Tasteful Woman who's finally decided to clean out her closet that's bulging at the seams with Slightly Rotting Elderly Maglis. You can see the Slight Rottingness in the close up of the buckle, above.

But maybe she's Dead & her relatives are donating them.

I've been hoarding My Maglis next to my desk in the Staffroom so that every now & then I can look down & admire them. I find it comforting. Not to mention the great Sense of Accomplishment I gain from having a Slightly Rotting Magli Collection.

I'm even allowing myself to wear Dangerously High Heeled Maglis as you can see in the Slightly Slutty look from yesterday, below. I was teetering around like one of those Tragic Slurry Cheap Champagne Slurping Horserace Goers. Trixie Drew said that the whole thing was becoming Silly & not to mention, Dangerous, as it was raining & I could have easily slipped down our hazardous overcrowded stairs on my way to the Classroom & then I would have had to sue the school as well as have a Knee Reconstruction.
One last word on my Slight Sluttiness. The whole outfit - from the 'Scanlan & Theodore' dress that is so tight that I look like I've been sewn into it like Marilyn the night she sang 'Happy Birthday Mr. President', to the Slightly Stained 'Calvin Klein' jacket, to the 'Tie Rack' faux Burberry Scarf & to, of course, the  Majestic Maglis, is from 'Bednobs'.

Meetooism.

vintage brooch & muppet
Originally uploaded by middleagedteacher

I was reading a post from Elena-Lu where she was extolling the virtues of wearing brooches.
One of the many many things that I Suffer From is 'Metooism'.
So, you think you've got a cool brooch collection, what until you see mine. That's how I think.
As soon as I read her post, I ran to the section of my wardrobe which houses The Brooch Collection & frantically chose one.
Although I've had it for years, I've hardly ever worn it. There's two reasons for this:
First, I'm like a Squirrel or perhaps a Chipmunk who likes to hoard Acorns in a cozy little bolt hole inside a tree.
I like to be secure in the knowledge that there's a little treasure trove of unworn stuff in my wardrobe Just in Case.
You might wonder, Just in Case What?'
I'm not quite sure.

Second, I forgot about it.
Third, it was given to me by a ruthless ex-colleague some years ago who I think had ransacked the contents of a Recently Deceased Neighbour's house & found the brooch in a drawer inside the original box that it came in along with a yellowing card that said, 'Dear Mum, Happy Mother's Day, love Beryl'.
It was obvious that dear old Mum had been saving the brooch for some Special Occasion that Never Came Along. And so she died without ever wearing it.
There's a Lesson in This for all of us. But I'm not sure what it is.

V. Talented Colleague Kindly Sings A Victim Tune

Wearing My Heart

At present, I'm sitting right bang in the middle of Friday Night. And I'd really rather hop into The Bath & soak my Gym-Infested Muscles than write this blog post.

 So I'm going to write it v. quickly & not bother to correct any mistakes. And I'm just going to tell you anything that comes into my head. And I may or may not bother to explain why I've included three days worth of photos of Jackets rather than just the one jacket worn three different ways that I have to wear to be in the Previously-Mentioned Mervat's Jacket Challenge. It's just that I like to make my own rules. Or maybe Flaunt the Rules. Or at least I wish I would.

Where was I? Oh yes, Baths. Not long after Mr. Ex-Middleaged left, I abandoned having showers.

 For the past ten months, I've had a total of three showers. You may think that this is totally Disrespectful to Water, my having baths. How could I be such a wastrel when we're running out of water, aren't we? 

Let me assure you, they're only piddley little baths. More like Puddles really. It's amazing that I manage to splash around in them at all. 

But the truth is, I couldn't get the water temperature in the shower right. Every morning, I'd turn the shower on & be alternately frozen to death with cold water or risk being Scalded Alive with Boiling Water. It's one of the perils of living on the eighth floor of a building that was built in 1929.

So out of Sheer Necessity, I now get up an hour earlier each morning & sit in the bath, which sounds relaxing, but isn't quite.

And tonight I am desperate for yet another bath  so I can soak myself in Lavender Oil from the Supermarket which is my Latest Beauty Indulgence, along with having my Eyebrows & Eyelashes tinted & waxed every two weeks.

It's now only a Hop, Skip & a Jump to having Botox injections or maybe little Chipmunk inserts in the side of my mouth to eradicate Rapidly Growing Marionette Lines, or 'Naso-Labial Folds'.

Every friday afternoon, I go to the gym to do my favourite class called Body Balance which is a combination of tai chi, yoga & pilates set to catchy music which of course totally defeats the purpose of doing yoga in the first place, but who cares when you can grow Arm Muscles?

 The gym is inside the Bondi Westfield shopping centre which is just like every shopping centre in the entire world. Except that I noticed that it's now got a 'Chanel' shop. So, today after the class, I rushed down to the shop & stared inside & at the window displays. I didn't dare go inside because I was carrying a Counterfeit Quilted Chanel Bag & I thought that the Rather Dour Shop Attendants might surround me & make a Citizen's Arrest or something.

Now, there's Two Things that I've told you about myself that Someone might tell me off for: 1. Having Baths 2. Having a Counterfeit Bag.

Anyway, I stood for quite a while examining the Slightly Showy Charcoal Quilted Chanel Bag that had kind of Old Communist Badges dangling off it in the window. It was like a Homage to Russia, I guess in honour of all those Wealthy Russian Oligarchs Wives who are probably the only people in the world who can afford a quilted bag right now. Of course, I'd love a Real Quilted Bag. But could I wear one featuring Lenin or Stalin? It's like wearing Mao tee shirts.  Who wants to wear a Mass Murderer? I certainly don't.

Give me Counterfeit any day.

Krystle Carrington in the Classroom

As you can see from the photos, I decided to wear my Krystle Carrington Bumble Bee Eighties Grecian Urn Pure New Wool 'Spinelli' dress again instead of wearing a jacket so I can complete Mervat's Jacket Challenge. That will have to wait until tomorrow.

Sheila, from Ephemera  kindly made the comment that I don't look like a bee in the dress. Thank you, Sheila.

It was v. cold today. Maybe the temperature was about 12 degrees celsius, maybe it climbed to 17. So I rugged up with two Muppet Stoles. The wild animal print one is one of my All Time Favourites that I've worn to death. The brown Muppet that I'm holding once belonged to the school's Drama Department. It's totally ridiculous to wear because I look like I'm going to a Suburban Cocktail Party in the 1950's or early 60's where I would drink Pink Gins & nibble on brightly coloured pickled onions skewered with tooth picks. Or perhaps off to a 'Live Show' to see 'My Fair Lady'. 

Enough reminiscing.

Maybe When You're a Towering Presence You Have Less Fear.

I just had to post another photo of Me & the 'Spinelli' dress that references Krystle Carrington & maybe a block of honeycomb or a large bumble bee without the black bits.

I'm quite fascinated by it. And I may wear it to school every day for the rest of the week. But I can't because I want to have another go at wearing a jacket a different way so I can win Mervat's jacket challenge on her blog Isthatnew. If I haven't already missed the deadline.

In case you're wondering, I'm reasonably short but certainly Not An Elf. It's just that I'm photographed next to Robyn, an Exceedingly Tall Woman who is lovely. Back in the early eighties, I briefly stayed at her v. interesting apartment in Hell's Kitchen in New York where every stick of furniture she'd dragged in from the street.  And it All Matched.

Robyn is such a goer, something I yearn to be. Maybe when you are a Towering Presence you have Less Fear. 

Anyway, I hadn't seen Robyn for ages so I rabbited on about having my outfits photographed daily & then posting them on the blog & flickr. She had never heard of such a thing. It was Entirely Alien Territory to her. Of course, I went into immediate Self-Justification Mode, wheeling out my usual line about 'Enlightenment Through Wardrobe'. It sounded a little lame.

Pewkey

I was never a fan of 'Dynasty'. In fact, I don't ever remember watching an episode. And I thought that the outfits, even back then when I was a fan of wearing clothes with aeronautically-engineered shoulder pads that made me look like an American Football Player, were Puky.

Yes, that's right, Puky. Or I would rather spell it Pewkey. 

Look at Linda Evans & Joan Collins in the picture above. As my Poor Dead Mother would say, 'I've seen worse, but I don't remember when'.

Apparently Joan is completely Bald & has been for many many years. She was bald back in the photo. According to some Spiteful Ex-Friend, Joan was v. nasty to her hair & tortured it mercilessly, so it fell out as an act of revenge. 

Now look at the photo below. It was taken on friday evening at Sporting Martin's 60th Birthday Bash. 

You can see him in the background on the left holding on to his forehead in disbelief that he's actually That Old. But he looks Pretty Damn Good which I won't go into because my friend Maud, his wife, thinks I go on far too much about his looks. 

I'll stay on Safer Ground by trying to link Joan & Linda, or should I say, Krystle & Alexis to Anna & Me.

First of all, there is absolutely No Connection Whatsoever between  JoanAlexisLindaKrystle & Anna, who's next to me looking Stylish & Chic in black. 

But sadly, I'm unwittingly channelling LindaKrystle in my huge shoulder-padded eighties 'Spinelli' Italian wool knit dress. I was soooo excited when I found it at 'Bednobs & Broomsticks' thrift shop & didn't care one bit that there was an unslightly stain at the front & a few moth holes. I quickly whisked it off to Seedy Roberto, the Alterations Man conveniently located in a seedy lane at the back of my apartment building & he removed the stain by shortening the dress. I just loved the what I saw as Gorgeous Grecian style pleating which draped my body so beautifully & decided to leave in what I thought were quite modest shoulder pads.

I didn't realise that I'd look like a Poor Woman's Krystle. Or maybe a huge block of Honeycomb. Or a bumble bee with pleats & without the black stripes. 

Thinking Like God

I'm going to a Sixtieth Birthday Drinks Party tomorrow night. And it's not even an Elderly Relative. In fact, its a friend who I've always thought was a contemporary of mine.

 I'm appalled. 

Yes, Sporting Martin is turning sixty. 

The only consolation is that he doesn't look it.

But I'm not going to Bang On about Age Yet Again. Oh no.

Instead, I'm going to show off the Birthday Card I made for Sporting Martin. It's a photo I took some time back featuring the body of Clark Kent that I found in a 'Happy Meal' back in the days when my daughter was old enough to eat them &  a scary rubber head that's supposed to go on the end of a pencil. 

Originally, the caption on the photo inquired,  'Are You As Clean As You Think You Are?' 

I never thought it quite worked & it certainly didn't seem right to ask that question of a person about to turn sixty. Luckily, I came across Einstein's desire to think like God whilst listening to one of Oprah's Podcasts only just last night. 

Talk about synchronicity!

Six Degrees of Della

You are in the middle of two photographs of Germaine Greer. The first one was featured in a groovy magazine called 'Pol' in Some Far Off Distant Decade. The second one was taken more recently.

Funnily enough, I'm not showing them to showcase the Ravages, or perhaps the Cruelty of Age. 

 The only reason why I feature anyone, famous  or otherwise on Della is to make some Link With Me. Just like I did a few days ago with Margaret Thatcher. 

Before I tell you my Link with Germaine, I must tell you how I feel about her.

Bad.

 I know that's  'Way Harsh' (I'm still teaching 'Clueless'), but she let me down terribly many years ago when, upon moving to The Mother Country, she immediately abandoned her Exciting Eclectic & Somewhat Raunchy Look in order to embrace Frump. 

It was an astonishing & almost immediate transformation, as if she thought, 'Right, now that  I've moved to England, I must  start dressing like The Queen'. Only it was The Queen after a Big Night & also without all the Glittery Bits. 

And how does all of this relate to Me, you might or might not ask?

Down below is Me Today. I'm wearing a v. cheap & a few years old houndstooth jacket from one of those dreadful Landfill Shops where you can buy an entire winter wardrobe for under a hundred bucks. Underneath is a wool thrifted 'Trent Nathan' dress that must be at least twenty years old because I had to rip the shoulder pads out before I wore it. I've tied a ten dollar Toy Pashmina that I bought at 'Cotton On' into a Pussy Bow which I think is v. clever of me. But then I'm wearing an Enormous Pair of Black Chandelier Earrings that have, by a Nasty Trick of Digital Photography completely disappeared. I swear that they were there though.

Anyway, Denny, a fellow teacher but not an English Teacher who shares our staffroom made a comment about my outfit today.

Denny is older than me, conservative, but well-dressed. She said, 'What has happened to you? You've become so conservative all of a sudden?  What happened to wearing one red stocking & one yellow one? You're wearing something that I might wear.' 

I was Mortified.

 'But what about the huge Chandelier earrings, Denny? You wouldn't wear those, would you?' I meekly inquired.

She didn't answer. Maybe the earrings were really invisible after all.

And then I started thinking about Germaine & her Overnight Change from Eclectic to Frump. Perhaps that's what has happened to Me. After all, I've often been told, 'What you resist, you get'. All these years of  disapproving of Germaine & I'm now suddenly turning into her. 

Quelle Horreur!

OMG Not Pig Flu!

Today, fresh from the Queen's Birthday Long Weekend, all anyone had to say  in the Staffroom was, 'OMG Pig Flu!'

Note the Pig in the Food Photo above, taken on Sunday evening at my weekly 'True Blood' dinner. How's that for tying everything neatly together? 

Staffroom/Pigs/Weekly Dinner/Pig Flu. And for once the text & the accompanying photo Almost, but not Quite, Match.

And the contents of the photo all neatly tie in together too: I put bacon in the Sad Little Shrunken Meatloaf featured in the foreground & everyone bought food in the same Bacon Tonings which sent Black & White, the poodles seen below, into a frenzy. They spent the entire night frantically pacing the ground underneath the dining table & sniffing like I imagine Specially Trained Gastronomique Dogs do when hunting Truffles.

By the way, I could never eat a Truffle because they are way too Rare & Expensive & the whole experience would be wasted because I would be thinking of the cost, not the taste.

Back to the Staffroom.

Today, Aunt Neddy had an Uncharacteristic Day Off which led people to start talking Pig Flu. And then, my neighbour in the staffroom, Libina, expressed concern that her daughter who is say, eleven, has got Pig Flu symptoms which sounded v. like Ordinary Flu Symptoms to me. And now I'm feeling a little choked up , or is it clogged up? 

I've just taken two 'Disprin' , a brand of aspirin fed to me constantly by my mother when I was a child which is now my v. favourite Drug of Choice. 

So here's hoping I don't have it.

Pity I Don't Go Off People That Hurt Me Like I Do With Shoes That Hurt Me.

The Sacred Venn Diagram
Originally uploaded by middleagedteacher

I know that this Blog Post is a little Out of Sync. But then again, so am I.
I've just posted the photo on flickr's wardrobe remix pool & I liked the little comment I wrote about it, so I thought I'd share it with Perhaps a Wider Audience. Presuming there is one .
I'm showing off my newly-thrifted 'Bruno Magli' shoes, which despite the fact that I wore little sockettes ,created a nasty little blister on my heel. Now I feel slightly turned off them which is how I always feel about shoes that hurt me. Pity I don't feel quite that way about People.

The Transformation of the Brussel Sprout

If you read my previous post you'd know that I'm spending at least part of The Queen's Birthday Long Weekend with my daughter Billie-Mae in Canberra.  If you didn't bother reading the previous post, now you know.

I do so enjoy my little visits. Part of why is because she now makes food for me which I find Luxurious Beyond Words.

For years & years & years while she was growing up I made food for her. This will come as no surprise to most people.  But let me tell you, it was Hard.  Apart from the fact that I am rather lazy, for a long time BM would eat only Foods that Were White - Cucumbers, Two-Minute Noodles (they tended to be Slightly Yellow), Pasta & loads of v. white sugar.

Now she is all grown up, Things Have Changed.  Not only is she a magnificent person, she is also a Magnificent Cook who can transform the Gastronomically Challenged Brussel Sprout into a mouth watering delicacy. I wonder if the B. Sprout originated in Belgium?

Have a look at them pertly sitting up in the baking dish alongside other  more tasty vegetables. In BM's deft hands, they were just as good. 

Onion Woman

I'm in Canberra, Our Nation's Capital, visiting my daughter, Billie-Mae & her partner Russell over our Long Weekend. 

You may wonder why we have a Long Weekend in June. It is because we still celebrate the Queen's Birthday even though we should be a Republic & it's not even Her birthday this weekend. As I type, I can hear the sound of Firecrackers going off in celebration. 

Anyway, I was thrilled to have some Time Off because I felt that if I had to stand in front of that Whiteboard for one more minute, I'd Explode.

Canberra does Winter much more than Sydney does, so I took the opportunity to kind of Rug Up. I'm wearing a thrifted coat with a Missing Button in a Prominent Place that I've spent quite some time thinking about which was slightly disturbing. Should I try & replace it with a different button, or just wear it anyway? 

You can guess what I ended up doing.

But I'm just dying to rip it off & expose a probably Way Too Young Tartan dress that I had just bought in The Mall at 'Cotton On', on sale for twenty dollars.

And here it is. A bit of an anti-climax really. Particularly as you can see more of My Toy Chanel Bag than you can of the Actual Dress. 

In fact, if you look closely you can see that I'm wearing three layers. Four, if you count my 'Always Dressed for Yoga' footless tights & black 'Bonds' singlet worn underneath.

Layer No. 2 is a British Dowager Dressed for Pruning Roses knitted Navy ensemble - a skirt & sweater which always is dying to be worn with a String of Pearls. 

Layer No 3 is the Slightly Too Young Tartan dress worn with a black pashmina & a fish pendant that was found at a garage sale in Thousand Oaks California.

Layer 4 - Coat with Prominent Missing Button.

So Call Me Onion Woman.

Reminder to Self: toss the Toy Chanel Bag. I've moved on.

I Never Want to Look Like an Old Iron Lady

One of my many Obsessions/Hobbies/Pastimes is Sleep.

Before I hit A Certain Age, I took sleep for granted. No big deal. Anybody could do it.

And I thought it was a Waste of Time as well.  Margaret Thatcher, pictured looking v. Self Satisfied above, famously trumpeted that she only needed four hours sleep a night. 

And doesn't she look it?

Anyway, a few years ago Sleep Became a Challenge. 

I couldn't get to sleep. And when I did, I'd wake up at 3am. And couldn't get back to sleep. 

And I began to dread going to bed. 

But now things have Slightly Changed.

Look at me in the photo below taken today in a Toy Tiara & a Muppet Stole.

Do I look sleep deprived?

I Don't Think So.

I don't look a thing like Margaret Thatcher.

Nowadays, I am getting more than six hours a night which is due in part to my new V. Early 9.30 pm Bedtime. 

Sadly, I can't write any more because it's now 9.31 & I'm already One Minute Late.

Hope you like my All Completely Thrifted Outfits including Footwear.

Yawn.

All About Boots Perhaps.

Today's blog entry is supposed to be about Boots. Perhaps you had already worked that out. But I can tell that The Blog Really wants it to be about my meetings with Mr. Ex-Middleaged. 

You see, The Blog, or should I just call it ( is 'It' a 'Her' perhaps?) 'Della', has a Mind of Her Own. But sadly, for Her, I'm In Charge.

'Della' is the Ventriloquist's Doll & I'm The Ventriloquist.

Now that we've got that straight, I may as well give you a little soupcon (don't you just love my Franglais?) of these meetings. And then I'll get on to The Boots.

Actually, there's only been two. Meetings, I mean, not Boots.

 Number 1: We met last friday in a tiny cafe for about twenty-five minutes max. That's all the time he had to spare because he had to rush off to the doctor's to be checked out for Pig Flu because he flys to Washington tomorrow, which I believe is The Official Home of Pig Flu. Then when he gets back, he has to revisit the Doctor & have a blood test to see if he caught it there &  wait for the results before he can go back to work. 

Number 2: Dinner last night at a v. expensive but empty hugely fashionable  two-hatted restaurant where we were served plates of miniature food with overpowering flavours like grated eggplant with a bucket of turmeric thrown  on it &  small slabs of silken tofu with little threads of salmon inside. And glasses of Italian Rose that I swear tasted like 'Ribena' or Blackcurrent Juice for kiddies.

 As I type, I feel as if I'm Blaspheming. How dare I say such things about this Sacred Restaurant which I Won't Name but would simply love to.  Maybe I'm just a Food Cretin, although that's 'Way Harsh'. Perhaps Food Naif.

Anyway, we managed to keep talking throughout the meal which I thought was a Monumental Achievement. I did not cry. In fact, here's The Thing: I've become as hard as nails & find it hard to cry now which is in stark contrast to how I used to be. Maybe it's the Male Hormones that I've been intravenously injecting.  And He never used to cry except at Movies & maybe at the end of the last episode of 'Seinfeld'. Now he cries. In public. In cafes. Last night I only caught him brushing away a tear or two. Meanwhile, I was sitting up Dry Eyed & Bushy Tailed.

Now I'll talk about Boots. 

But it's almost my bedtime & I couldn't be really that bothered now. 

So here's the Executive Summary: Today I drew a Boot on the whiteboard when discussing 'Emma' & 'Clueless. Perhaps it reflects my current good fortune in finding many pairs of boots at my Magical Thrift Shop.

 I'm showing off three of them in the photos. 

The young woman in one of the photos was mine & Trixie Drew's Fab Student Teacher who was with us until last friday. 

Yesterday, Ernestina in my staff room came to school with one black boot & one brown boot.It was Not a Conscious Style Decision.  In fact, Ernestina didn't notice the error until her Year 12 class tactfully pointed it out to her. Luckily, Princess Pip came to her rescue & provided an alternative.