Je Ne Regrette Rien or Whatever

The Freedom to Read a Book Called 'Freedom'.

I'm now on holidays. For two weeks. And I'm doing what I believe Other English Teachers do in their spare time.

Read.

Yes, that's right. I've bought a book & I'm reading it. I quite like it. In fact, I like it so much that I'm starting to get a bit sour that I haven't written it myself.

Although I've only read a couple of chapters, like maybe I'm up to Page 68, I can thoroughly recommend it. And others recommend it too. They call it, 'remarkable'.

Do We Need Role Models, I Wonder?

I'm also reading another book by John Waters. Its called 'Role Models'. In each chapter, John, of Drawn-On-Pencil-Moustache & Divine fame, walks us through why someone is his role model.

So far, I've read the first chapter which was about the singer Johnny Mathis who I absolutely loathed as a child because I thought his big song, 'The Twelfth of Never' was stupid. How could there ever be a 'twelfth of Never' ?, I pondered. That's preposterous.

Besides, his voice was a little too fruity for my tastes. Thank God The Beatles & Gerry & the Pacemakers came along a few years later. That stopped my Johnny Mathis Ennui.

Anyway, I also thoroughly recommend 'Role Model's even though I haven't got past the first chapter.

Before closing this section, I would like to make a Neat Segue into asking myself Who Exactly Are My Role Models?

Winston Churchill is always my Number One even though every morning he drank a bottle of champagne at breakfast which he ate in bed on a tray provided by his Manservant. I am a terrible Wowser & so it is amazing that he is a role model. And I don't like cigars or boiler suits either.

OMG I can't think of any more. I'm completely stumped. Perhaps you could make some suggestions. But absolutely NO sporting people except for perhaps Seabiscuit, the racehorse, who I am immensely in awe of after watching the film with Toby Maguire many times.

Anus Horribilus.

Have just been watching yet another documentary on The Queen, which must be about the hundredth this year. Go ahead, ask me any question about her & I'm bound to know the answer & even if I didn't know, I'd make it up & I bet you wouldn't know the difference.

You'd think I was her biggest fan. I'm not. I quite like her, although I certainly don't like the way that she's thickened up over the years. But, its tuesday nite & there was nothing else on & I'm absolutely determined to get my money's worth out of Cable TV since I'm now paying for it. What a strain. Every nite I have to trawl through all the listings in the TV guide to desperately find Something Suitable.

Of course the documentary showed the 'Annus Horribilus' speech that Queen gave in 1992 after Windsor Castle burned down & no one was sympathetic about it & three out of four of her children got divorced which made everyone think what a lousy mother she'd been because she went off on a six month world tour when they were v. young & left them back home in the Palace. And when she finally bothered to return, Prince Charles had completely forgotten who she was & shook her hand instead of kissing her.

I must say that I do love the term 'Annus Horribilus' & would love to use it to describe my year & perhaps the year before that & part of the year before that.

But I won't. I don't want to sound too much like a Whiner. Not that Queen sounded like one. Never.

Here's a couple of End of Term 3 Photos that I'm totally gagging to Walk you Through.

Oh dear, I hope I'm not being too 'Vulgar'!

Look look look at the one above. It's yet another 'Toy Chanel' outfit complete with pearls & a roguishly tied Toy Chanel scarf. But the stand out is the Belt. I have worn this belt many times this term & in fact unsuccessfully attempted to wear it every day one whole week but didn't quite make it.

I'll just have to keep trying.

Grey Power.

I just love how I have Embraced Grey all of a sudden. I used to boast that I would never wear it because Grey was the colour of Fear. Where the hell I got that idea, I have no idea.

I just Spontaneously Rhymed.

I am pointing to the words, 'being a bitch' which is what one of my Senior Class said was her biggest regret about High School on their second last lesson with me.

I said that my biggest regret was not doing push ups for my entire adult life.

A Festival of the Outfit Postscript:

On the last day of term, Ken our school's Magical Maintenance Man, wheeled up a giant laundry basket from the Boarding House which was full of leftover clothes from our Op Shop Parade & Stall, to 'BednobsEtc'. Gabe, The Wardrobe Mistress, received them with Open Arms.

Visible Everything Lines

This is, I assure you O Reader, going to be a Blip or is it a Blimp? of a Blog Entry because I only want to say a couple of things:

1. I did soo enjoy getting dear Joan Rivers to be the only person in the History of the World to asked The Queen WHO she was wearing.

And HRH gave a rather surprising answer, I thought. Who would have known that she makes her own clothes? How does she find the time?

2. Visible Everything Line.

To celebrate the re-installing of my Cable TV, I've been watching oodles of The Style Network. What a cast of characters! Let me briefly walk you through two of them:

(a) I've just discovered an intriguing little minx on a reality show called 'Jerseylicious'. Sadly, I don't know her name. But she is perhaps twenty, with long black hair & huge crescent-mooned eyebrows that seem to have separate personalities all of their own. I was Totally Transfixed.

She was telling us that she has graduated from 'The LaToya Jackson L'Ecole de Beaute', which was , 'the Harvard of Beauty Schools'. I was impressed.

(b) Simon Doonan. He's the creative director of 'Barneys' in NYC & loves dispensing hard-hitting, gritty advice on shows about How to Be Glamorous. I actually watched one of them earlier this evening & was told that if I want to be glamorous, I MUST Stop Wearing a Thong. OMG, I didn't know that's all I had to do! What a relief! I must do it immediately.

Simon didn't actually have much to say about the wearing of thongs. He was more interested in Setting us Straight about Visible Panty Lines, which are known in the trade as VPL.

Anyway, while all the other pundits on the show were defaming the VPL, he said that he would MUCH rather See the VPL & have the reassurance that that person was actually wearing panties.

Simon would be hugely relieved to look at me, above (in a thrifted 'Scanlan & Theodore' waay too small dress) & see that the line of Every Single Piece of Underwear I'm wearing is reassuringly visible to anyone within a fifteen metre radius.

That dress is going straight into the bin. But not, the Akira Isogawa offcut that I wore as a scarf. Nor is the Golden Seashell belt or the Toy Ocelot Tights or the slightly rotting 'Bruno Magli' shoes.

The Overworked Hologram

1. Due to excessive fatigue am reduced to writing in Numbered Points.

2. You'll be relieved to know that My Cable TV is back. I almost cried with joy when Two Burly Cablemen finally arrived on saturday afternoon to install it.

3. I've just been watching a Slightly Smug English Arts Programme - The Book Show, hosted by a Blond Norwegian woman whose Plummy English accent has been voted the sexiest voice on TV. She quoted novelist J.D. Ballard who said that reality was an, 'overworked hologram'. That's exactly how I feel at the moment.

4. Today was my final lesson with my Senior Class. I got a Huge Ring from The Class Angel, Grace. It went well with my Vintage Lanvin possibly silk dress that I wore today above, making sure that the word, 'Lanvin', which had been v. thoughtfully printed on the pussy bow, was Visible At All Times. In fact, I spent all day trumpeting the dress's 'Lanviness' to anyone who would listen, or at least pretend to listen. OMG, I just invented a new word. Even though I'm nearly sick with fatigue.

5. This morning I was standing at 'Zinc', waiting for a takeaway latte when I bumped into my Ex-Real Estate Agent. If I was an American, I would call him My Ex-Realtor. Ant is a slickly well-oiled chap. Some would even go as far as to say that he was Smarmy, one of my favourite words, but one that I sadly don't use often enough. Others may even call him Fragrantly Pin-Striped.

Anyway, Ant took one look at me & immediately noticed that I was carrying a small 'Hermes' shopping bag.

'Is that a Fake Hermes carry bag?' he asked.

'NO', I replied.

'How did you get it then?'

I smiled & said nothing. Never Explain, Never Defend is my motto, although you'd never know it. (They gave the bag to me at 'Bednobs Etc.')

Then Ant looked at the Rest of Me. I knew that this next bit was going to be a challenge.

'The rest of you looks Unusually Expensive as well'. ( He didn't actually say that in words, but that was what he meant)

'Its Vintage Lanvin'. I just couldn't help myself.

I guess ever since Joan Rivers began asking Stars on the Red Carpet, 'Who are you wearing?' that its kind of OK to Trumpet the Brand.

But can you just imagine The Queen or Jackie O doing it? Certainly NOT the Queen. Perhaps Jackie did. She certainly loved a Brand. Her second wedding dress was a v. unexciting 'Valentino', I just read. But I'm Such a Fan, I think she looked fab in everything, even the blood-splattered pink Chanel Suit. I know I'm vulgar, but I'm sincere.

6. 'Vulgar' is word absolutely dripping in subtext for me. My mother used it. My grandmother used it. The nuns used it. Being vulgar was really about the v. worst thing you could be & every time I heard it, a little part of me would die.

I'm now desperately trying to remember what a Big Vulgar Sin was, but I'm stumped for the moment. . . . It definitely must have had something to do with swearing. And I'm sure shoes came into it somewhere. Possibly talking loudly. Telling dirty jokes. Sitting with legs splayed. Mentioning money in polite company, particularly at a dinner table. Wearing huge fake diamonds. Name-dropping. Talking Politics. Oh God, I could go on for Days!

I knew it would all come back to me if I put my mind to it.

7. Channelling Queen Mary.

I'm nearly choking above, on my grey necklaces. Actually it' s one long graduated necklace that I've wound around my neck a couple of times so that the circulation has almost gone, but it was worth it.

Queen Mary has got to be one of my all time Style Icons. I bet that you didn't know that I felt this way about her. Someone once told me that she tried to slit her throat perhaps on her honeymoon on the Royal Yacht & for the rest of her life she had to cover up her neck to cover the scar. That seems a little unlikely, but its almost a good story.

8. Lastly, before I leave you, I must give you a last minute tip for reading 'Mrs Dalloway'. I just learned it from a Learned Antiquarian Bookshop owner from Sussex on 'The Book Show' who had never managed to read it because of its Stream of Consciousness, but Had to read it because she'd just joined a book club & it was The Book of the Week. Anyway, she recommends that you initially allocate One Hour with the book. You have to sit there & wriggle & squirm with it for a hour. At the end of the hour, you'll love it. In fact, Antiquarian loved it sooo much, that she read two more Virginia Woolf's after.

9. Lastly, lastly, my daughter, Maeflower has just purchased a Tropical Fish Aquarium. She is following Strict Rules about waiting a week to let the water become more Fish Friendly or whatever before placing fish in there. A wise move. She reminded me of our Underwater Family when she was growing up. We had an axolotl called Sushi for perhaps as long as ten years who was not young when he was given to us. I waited in vain for Sushi to transform into a Salamander. Sadly, he died a slow death before it happened. In fact, I think he had been dead for some time before we realised as it was difficult at the best of times to tell if he was alive. I remember taking him out of the tank & wrapping him in a pair of of Mr. Ex-Middleage's Calvin Klein undies & putting him in the freezer. I'm not sure why I did this. Perhaps I thought I was cryogenically freezing him, so that he could be brought back to life later.

Time for Bed.

The Unattainable Jimmy Choo

The Unattainable Jimmy Choo
Originally uploaded by middleagedteacher

Jimmy Choo has been ever so slightly featuring in my life lately.
A few weeks back I cleverly thrifted a Magnificent Fake Choo handbag that almost, but not quite looks like the REal thing.
And then a Jimmy Choo Actual Shop opened at nearby Bondi Westfield. I even went in there & sniffed out the price of the bags, going so far as to get the v. attentive shop assistant to take the stuffing out of them so I could make a closer inspection.
So, imagine my loud squeals of delight when I noticed a pair of Choos in the window of my favourite thrift shop, 'Bednobs & Broomsticks'! I had to control myself because it was a sunday & the shop was shut.

But first thing Monday morning I was outside, literally champing at the bit (not quite sure what it means, but I'm sure I was doing it) to be let in bang on opening time. I raced to the shoes, tore mine off, & watched with awe as my foot easily slid into the shoe, just like Cinderella's did after the ball.
But when I stood up, I wobbled. They were far too high. I would never be able to walk down the street without falling over & having a serious accident. Perhaps a hip replacement.

Sadly, I put them back. Like so much else in Life, Jimmy was unattainable.

A Deadline Beating School Newspaper Article

More School Newspaper Deadlines that I'm dangerously close to Not Meeting.

And, my Official Bedtime is dangerously looming.

I'm just going to have to type like a Madwoman.

'Flow'rs & Sunshine' Editors Start On the Next Line. Don't dare mention my Official Bedtime.

As you can see from the photos, the Op Shop Fashion Parade was much much more than a mere Fashion Parade. In fact, in terms of excitement, creativity & enthusiasm, it made New York Fashion Week look like a Complete Yawn. The only thing that was missing was Anna Wintour & her sunglasses sitting in the front row. And perhaps Blake Lively sitting next to her.

Maybe next year.

But let's Stick to Now for the Moment.

The event, which incidentally has raised rather a large sum of money for charity that we're still counting, took weeks & weeks of preparation. Many girls & their mothers cleaned out their wardrobes & donated unwanted garments, some with the tags still on . Bags piled up in the Drama Room which made it difficult for the HSC Drama students to practice. But they did it anyway.

Then we had weeks & weeks of emotionally draining lunchtime sessions, where Models & their stylists selected outfits from donations to showcase in the parade. Some outfits mysteriously disappeared, only to emerge under a pile of rubble some days later. Others, like a sequinned 'Sass & Bide' tee shirt, Completely Disappeared, never to be seen again. I'm still trying to let go of that one.

Finally, The Big Day arrived.

And it shouldn't just have been called a Fashion Parade. It was 'The Festival of the Outfit'.

It began with a morning Tutor Group selection of candidates for the Best Dressed & a golden coin collection for wearing mufti. At recess, what appeared to be The Whole School, assembled on the paved area for the Nail-Bitingly Nerve Wracking selection of six finalists. A team of hand-picked- by- me judges had to make some tough decisions as just about everyone had dressed to the Max. Oh dear, I hope I'm not sounding too seventies.... Next I'll be saying how 'groovy' everyone looked.

Anyway, you can see one of the winners in the last photo. Kitten is the one on the right, although the one on the left, Brigitte, who looked straight out of Paris 1960, could have won it as well as far as I'm concerned.

Before the parade, a huge team assembled in A11 for 'Hair & Makeup', always a Magical Combination. Augusta was as cool as a cucumber even though her hair was being teased & sprayed beyond recognition.

The parade went off like a dream, even though the audio visual equipment had a slight hissy fit half way through. But everyone behaved like real troupers.

The following week, we had a two day sale of the donated clothes. It was miles more exciting than a Sausage Sizzle, although I would much rather watch clothes being sold & perhaps buy some myself than eat a sausage sandwich. But that's just me.

The unsold clothes are sitting in bags in the back of A11, waiting for a team of girls to take them up to the Wayside Chapel Op Shop to be re-sold. They'll make a motza out of them. Also, the girls will be presenting them with a fairly fat cheque, all made possible by You, The Stylish School Community!

An Amendment.

Hello Friends. You may notice that there are no photos. I've deleted them. Don't ask why. Just do your best to imagine what they may have been like.

Plating Up a Scrambled Omelette

Right or Happy?

I'm totally forced into writing a blog entry tonite because I can't watch TV & its nowhere near my Official Bedtime. It's 8.21 pm & I've just finished a large plate of what is rapidly becoming a Regular Almost-Mid-Week Dinner - a three organic egg dish which runs a v. fine line between Scrambled Eggs & an Omelette. My desire would be for it to be a Proper Omelette, but sadly, like so much else, it Falls Short. I've tried adding milk. Or leaving out milk. Or adding water. But it always turns out the same: A Scrambled Omelette.

The eggs are thrown into a pan that already has a sliced Roma tomato sprinkled with dried basil cooking in it. Grated cheese & chopped shallots are added. When its cooked, the dish is thrown on to a plate that already has mashed avocado on it. Thinly sliced root vegetables that were baked with a generous sprinkling of Moroccan spice are then thrown onto what becomes a totally overcrowded plate.

I so hate the way that everyone after 'Masterchef' talks about 'Plating up' their food. Like 'plate' can suddenly become an Exciting Verb. I can just imagine my poor Dead Mother delicately 'plating up' the grilled lamb chops & three boiled vegetables that she regularly served my father & me over a couple of decades.

What a wank.

Of course, I'm talking about Food because its Good Food Week in Sydney & I'm always desperate to be Part of the Zeitgeist.

There's been the usual Back-Slappingly Smug Distribution of Hats. Some restaurants lost a hat. Others gained yet another one. Still others got one for the v. first time.

Oops, I just typed 'hate' instead of 'hat'.

Perhaps that's a sign that I should Move On.

Last week, I wrote 'Do you want to be Right or Happy' on the whiteboard to my Year 7 class. They looked at me blankly. Finally, Matilda said, 'I don't get it. Can't you be right & happy at the same time?'

I suppose so.

Frilled Neck Lizard Woman.

In a desperate bid to draw the attention away from a rapidly developing Turkey Neck, I am wearing loads of frills & three intertwining Toy Gold necklaces.

Let me walk you through them:

1. Glomesh snake necklace with Magnetised clasp. I do so love Glomesh. It reminds me of perhaps 1970 etc when everyone's Mother had an Oroton glomesh handbag & matching wallet.

2. Homemade necklace by me featuring the Number Five which of course is a reference to Chanel. You know, Chanel No. 5.

3. Totally Fake Gold Chain that I have convinced myself looks Real.

You may think that wearing loads of gold & frills around the Delicate Neck area would only serve to draw attention to it. Nonsense. People are too distracted to notice.

When I read my whiteboards outside the classroom, I'm Slightly Shocked. They usually look like I'm running a class on Understanding Chakras or Decoding the Tarot rather than an English lesson using texts approved by the Board of Studies.

In the above photo, the subject was Australian poet, Gwen Harwood's, 'The Valediction', a poem on the HSC list that I've managed to turn into 'Linda Goodman's Love Signs', an oracle I often consulted in the long ago past when selecting New Boyfriends.

Please note I'm wearing my thrifted from 'BednobsEtc' genuine 'Valentino' jacket, made from Grey Twill. At least that's what someone told me it was made of.

Here I am yesterday looking like I should be standing in front of a car or some White Goods rather than a whiteboard. Maybe it was my new No Nonsense Tightly Held in Place Sports Bra which I'm now wearing because Miss Jay, the Games Mistress told me that I have to have No Bounce when I run or skip at Boot Camp because everything will droop even more. In fact, when I go Boot Camping, I wear the bra & a crop top over it so that there's Absolutely No Possibility of any Movement.

It's now 9.21 pm. Close enough to my Official Bedtime. I've filled the nite in beautifully. Thank you Darla, Rebecca, El Jay, Janavi & Zizzi for your great comments in the last entry. I particularly loved Mr. Ex-MA's new name -Exma.....get it? Soo funny.

The Pointing Finger

You may notice that I'm Pointing a Finger at someone in the photo above.

I acknowledge that doing this is Most Unattractive & Rather Aggressive.

But that's exactly what I feel like doing right now.

Spoiler Alert: An Uncharacteristic Moment of Personal Disclosure.

Skip this part if you're not up to it. I don't blame you if you do.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo...

Some of you might remember Mr. Ex-Middleaged. I certainly do.

But in case you don't, or you're New to Mystory, I'll give the tiniest of Backstories:

Once upon a time, Middleagedteacher & Mr. Middleaged (as he was then known) got together. They formed a Blended family with their respective children. Fourteen years passed. The children grew up. Suddenly, Mr. Middleaged left. He then became known as Mr. Ex-Middleaged.

Two years & two months have passed. Middleagedteacher is in Limbo, which she was told in kindergarten was a place where Poor Unbaptised Babies & Perhaps Even Adults go to for Eternity instead of Heaven because they didn't have that Nasty Original Sin wiped from their Souls. It's tough. But Rules are rules.

Anyway, Middleagedteacher, who is just aching to stick 'Poor' in front of her name, still hasn't got a property settlement. She is sad & fearful but always perks up when she sings, 'I am Woman, Hear me Roar', although she is tempted to sing 'Snore' instead of 'roar'.

Back to First Person.

On thursday evening, I arrived home fresh from Boot Camp. I felt rather good because I'd Boxed Magnificently & had held a Plank Pose for a minute. Just when I was mentally planning a sumptous dinner featuring a Rogue Carb, the doorbell rang.

Who could it be?

It was Foxtel, the Cable TV people. They had been sent by Mr. Ex-MA to take my Cable TV away. I begged the Cable Guy to leave it alone. But he took no notice. Instead he gave me instructions on how I could hook up my TV to get free to air channels. I didn't listen which was a shame because now the TV won't work because I incorrectly fiddled with it.

I wish Mr. Ex-MA could have given me warning that my Lifeblood was about to be cut off. But he cannot bring himself to speak to me or even to tell me that he left me for a Slightly Younger, but Perhaps Heftier, Other Woman.

No wonder I'm wearing wings. I've got to do something to cheer myself up.

I would sooo love if tiny wings were part of Mainstream Fashion. Like they came built in to jackets or dresses & everyone wore them not just on Special Occasions.

Sadly, the ones I'm wearing were a little too cumbersome. I kept on bumping into things, particularly when I went back to the crowded Staff Lounge at recess when everyone was crowding around the plates of party pies & fairy bread the school generously provides on friday.

My Senior Class have only a few weeks to go before they leave school & do their final hellish exams, The Higher School Certificate. We have been working towards this for nearly two years.

Yesterday, I used my collection of Action Figures to make some last minute points about Race, Class & Gender in Shakespeare's 'As You Like It'. Deedree really got into the spirit of the text when she dressed a v. butch Action Man in one of Barbie's dresses & added flimsy tights for a Slightly Slutty look. Shakespeare loved cross-dressing.

I'm so proud that I've finally taught her something.

My personal favourite of the collection is the Hillary Clinton Nutcracker. It is soo worth clicking on the photo to enlarge it so you can see where the actual Nutcracker is located on her.

Have so much more to say & with a Blank TV Screen to stare at, plenty of time to say it.

But sadly, I've just realised that it's just On my Official Bedtime. So I can't say it after all. Except to briefly mention that I loved Anna Wintour's idle remark to Blake Lively that she doesn't have a personal stylist because she thinks dressing yourself is the Ultimate in Self Expression. You go girlie.

Oh, just in case you were wondering, I've signed up in my own name to Foxtel. But I have to wait for two weeks. And I'm going to get someone to fix the TV. But I MIGHT buy a shiny new HD one to go with The Shiny New Me.

Drowning in a Sea of Outfits.

I've just made a commitment to write this blog entry in five minutes because I'm v. keen to watch a doco about Toulouse Lautrec. And I must get some inspiration which I always do when I look at his pictures even though he wasn't much chop to look at & the details of his sad little life are hard for a Sensitive Soul like me to hear.

So...... its going to be Stream of Unconsciousnesss from now on......... Setting my Sentences Free!!!

Luckily, I've got some Thrilling Pics to fill up the void.

Look at me & Deedree above. I am standing, Cat that Ate the Canary style at my Op Shop Stall that was the culmination of the school's Festival of the Outfit this week. I am wearing a genuine 80s knit dress that was way too hot for yesterday's Super Spring weather. I am also wearing a badge I cleverly made to celebrate the event. Sadly, everyone thought that it was a birthday badge which it certainly wasn't. And if it was I would never Knowingly Outwardly Celebrate it. But that's a whole other story.

Stick to the Script Sue.

Here's a Groaning Table of Op Shop goods. I was shocked when students started to actually buy the stuff. But buy they did & a few even stole. I think we made about eight hundred dollars over two lunch times. You have to sell an awful lot of sausages to make that kind of money.

Here's three of my Main Helpers. I couldn't believe what superb spruiking sellers they were.

Clever, nimble Evangeline who reminds me a little of Jo from 'Little Women' came up with the idea of hanging dresses, Strange Fruit style from a tree at recess to advertise the lunchtime sale. No one took any notice. Or if they did they asked why the dresses are hanging there .

Here's what I wore on the final day of the Festival. At present, I am totally crazy about Shocking Pink and would love to wear some variation of it every day even though it might make me look like I'm ready for a game of bingo. In keeping with the Spirit of Op Shop, I'm totally dressed from 'BednobsEtc', who, incidentally are receiving all the proceeds as well as the unsold items.

Bruno Magli shoes bought from there by my friend, The Ex-School Nurse & kindly passed to me. Carla Zampatti silk skirt. Charlie Brown silk like substance blouse with large pussybow which has a Will of Its Own. I wish I did.
Here's me supervising the sale later on in the day. I've popped a little 'Esprit' number on over the blouse. Note my 'Splendours from the Sea' mess of bracelets. Sadly, the circulation in my arm was cut off. But at least it looked good. Which is all that matters.

This has taken 20 minutes instead of 5. But it was worth it.

Have got soo much more to say......... My friend Carla is worried that I may become one of those Poor Hoarders who are found dead in their homes under an avalanche of Hoardings. I would like to write about that. And I also want to extoll the virtues of Embracing Failure as a Possible Path to Enlightenment. Thank you Rebecca, Darla & Janavi for your encouraging comments. I did so love reading them but was too busy or full of myself to bother writing in the appropriate section.

Lautrec awaits........ Shame I haven't got any Absinthe.