The Eternal Skipper

Bonjour, Della Nation!

You may be wondering why I'm Suddenly Speaking French. Or, as I prefer to call it, Franglais.

Of course its because I've been sitting here, laptop on my knee, huddled next to a v. humble two bar radiator watching a v. slobbering interview with the actor Charlotte Rampling in Paris.

I've always held a Distant Admiration for Charlotte. But the truth is, she's never warmed the Cockles of my Heart. She looked too much like a Well-Bred Racehorse for my liking, although I am exceedingly fond of horses & aspire to one day own my own Miniature Companion Horse.

Charlotte is sitting in some Paris Park, maybe The Tuileries, although what the hell would I know, I haven't been to Paris since 1974.

For the first few minutes of the interview I sat there wondering if Charlotte had had any work done, a topic never far from my mind these days. But then she said something that caught my attention .

She said that she had never really gone after things in life. Things had just gone after her.

Well, isn't she the Lucky One, I sneerily thought.

Things might have gone after me too if I looked more like a Racehorse.

But then she said ,'I always considered that there was a state of being - a freedom of spirit within yourself....and I felt if I could cultivate that, & not impose things on anybody & not demand things ...& if I could learn to be in that state of being, that things would happen. And they did.'

I love it when people talk about Inner States of Being & Freedom & Getting Everything You Secretly Want By Not Acting Needy.

And aren't you marvelling at how I managed to type what she said verbatim?

Anyway, I'd like to go to Paris.

That's why I'm collecting miniature Eiffel Towers & wearing an Eiffel Tower ring & an Eiffel Tower badge. It's in the hope that My Energy will finally connect with the Energy of Paris & I'll magically find myself there v. soon, perhaps after I visit an Ashram in India, which is where I now sound like I'm coming from.

Today I was being a Badbag & an Eternal Skipper at Boot Camp instead of being in Paris. Can you tell that I am skipping in the first photo? I must have been turning the rope at an enormous speed because you can't see it.

I am a dreadful skipper. I was tooo frightened to jump. I was lamely hopping instead. My feet kept on being caught. I had no traction. Or whatever you would say in Skipping Parlance.

Finally, I overcame my fear of jumping & jumped. You'd think I was about to jump off a cliff. What an amazing sense of achievement when I successfully skipped fifteen times.

Cascading Teardrops.

Here's me yesterday, again Not in Paris, but in the Staffroom. I wonder what Parisian Staffrooms in high schools are like? Would they all be endlessly chain smoking, I wonder? Or is that another Sad Example of my Cultural Stereotyping?

Please note my two necklaces that I bought for five bucks each earlier this year at the 'Diva' sale. I like to think of them as Cascading Teardrops.

Ooo, I've just thought of that wonderful Victim Song, 'The Tracks of My Tears'. Sooo apt. So me.

My Little Bit for Brown.

I've said it before & I'll say it again, Brown is the Poor Relation of the Colour Spectrum, although I don't think it features in Rainbows. Brown has never recovered from the Seventies when it was the Colour de Jour in people's houses.

Anyway, here I am in Top to Toe Brown & loving it. I'm wearing one of my newly made necklaces which I've aptly named 'The Tool Box' for reasons that are obvious.

I am now in v. grave danger of violating my Official Bedtime.

So its off to bed. You may be relieved to know that I don't wear sockettes to Bed. I wear Bedsocks. Soo toasty.

An Unfortunate Series of Wardrobe Conundrums

In keeping with my Strict Policy of Never Explain Never Defend, I am definitely not telling you that I have been sick as a excuse for Not Blogging.

I am telling you because 1. As a poor Abandoned Princess, I'm always angling for sympathy.

2. It is a Mildly Interesting Story.

But where oh where do I begin? Do I start where the trouble began on the previous weekend when I finally cleaned out my Shiny On the Outside but Quietly Rotting on the Inside Stainless Steel Refrigerator?

Or do I cut to the chase to last Wednesday nite's dinner when the problem really came to a head?

Let's go with the dinner.

1. Desperate to infuse some Comfort & Warmth into a small straggly bowl of cauliflower flowerettes, I reached for some 'Weightwatchers' grated cheese from the fridge, confident in the knowledge that since I had just cleaned it out, everything in it was reasonably within their Expiry Dates.

2. I sprinkle cauflifower with said cheese & microwave it.

3. I eat at least three mouthfuls before I Smell a Rat.

3(a) I abandon eating it.

4. I go to bed.

5. I wake up at 4.30 & wonder what's wrong with me.

6. Five minutes later I know what it is.

7. I am sick for two days.

8. I originally blame the Basil Infested Gourmet Sausages that I ate along with the cheese soaked flowerettes.

9. But then I drag the 'Weightwatchers' plastic wrapper out of the garbage & read with dismay that it was five months past its expiry date.

10. I feel relieved that it wasn't a Mystery Illness as I was beginning to think that perhaps I had a Brain Tumour that had vomiting as a symptom.

Anyway, that top photo was taken on the day of the illness. Its a lesson in, 'You Never Know What's Going to Happen Next'.

One minute you're standing next to the whiteboard pondering Descartes' Dictum -' I think therefore I am' & feeling Rather Smug about it & the next you're lying next to the toilet in a foetal ball wondering whether its worthwhile trotting back to bed before the next attack arrives.

Do bother to scroll back & behold my Andy Warhol Marilyn tights. I haven't worn them in a while & decided they needed an airing, although I was concerned that I may look a little (a) Moutonesque in them (b) Carnival Workeresque in them. (Of course no offence to Carnival Workers intended)

I did enjoy wearing them even though Nasty Ernestina in the staff room said that it looked like I was going back to 'The Bad old Days' . Whatever that meant.

Please note that I'm wearing my almost, but not quite favourite shoes - thrifted Subtle Electric Blue 'Ballys'. They certainly lend a Minnie Mouse quality to my outfit.

But where oh where is Mickey, I wail?

Lastly, I'm wearing a little badge with lips like Marilyn on them that I bought at 'Diva', my favourite shop in the entire world besides 'Bednobs & Broomsticks'.

Here's me last nite while mindlessly waiting for my guests to arrive for the weekly 'Mad Men' dinner.

Please note that I wore an item of clothing that v. soon was to create Some Controversy amongst the guests .

Underneath my Plastic Toy Biker's Jacket, I am wearing a Real Dolce & Gabbana top which has only got room to say 'Dolce & Gabb' on it. How appropriate.

Tyler & Hunter, both young hip men, said that wearing brand names was Absolutely Fine except that they didn't do it anymore. In fact, Tyler was wearing a V. Born to Rule Lightweight Cardigan with the 'Pringle' insignia emblazoned discreetly on it but no words.

They said, as long as it wasn't a 'Diesel' bought for two bucks in some country Famous for Counterfeiting, or perhaps a 'Lonsdale' brand, it was Perfectly Acceptable.

I felt Affirmed.

But then Carlotta, ever the purist, said that she thought wearing a brand name on your front was Cheap & Pointless.

I was crushed.

What a Knife's edge I live on.

Desperate to create another controversy, I quickly made another Costume Change straight after 'Mad Men' finished.

This time it was a genuine silk shirt by 'Valentino' that had been languishing in the racks at 'BednobsEtc' for the past two, or was it three weeks, slowly lowering in price.

Last week before my illness set in, I finally decided to put it out of its misery by purchasing it for five bucks.

I was thrilled. Fancy, me & a Real Silk Shirt by The Last Emperor Himself!

I made everyone guess what brand it was.

No one could come up with the right answer until I mimed someone tanning their face under a sun lamp.

Knowing the brand made absolutely no difference to the Universal Opinion that it was awful. Even though shoulder pads were back in fashion, they weren't the right kind of shoulder pads. It needs a belt or something. The pattern looks tired. Like Valentino was phoning it in the day he designed it. The elderly woman who owned it probably died & it was generously donated by her niece.

I am now Setting Myself an Official Della Street Wardrobe Challenge.

I am going to wear this shirt to school or perhaps more wisely on the weekend & Make it look good. Or perhaps, will it to look good. Never fear, I'm going to do Whatever it Takes.

After all, if a sixteen year old from Australia's Sunshine Coast can sail around the world on her own like Jessica Watson did, I can make this Tired Old Valentino Silk Shirt look chic. Or at least presentable.

I've been trying to think of a way to mention Jessica all through this post.

Now I've done it, its Time to Go to Bed.

Well, almost.

Oh, here's 'Ol Dolce & Gabb unadorned. Please note that I am wearing Pants but I would rather call them Slacks which is what they were called when last I wore them back in 1979.

In fact, they're Harem Pants, bought in the Girlswear Dept at 'Best & Less'. I can only buy legwear from the children's wear depts of these places because I have such short stumpy little legs.

Mother's Day Backslapping

Yesterday was Mother's Day.

So I thought that it was High Time that I smugly congratulated myself by showing you Some V. Precious Moments in a Mother's Life.

Can you believe the Monumental Afro that My Best Friend Marge is wearing as she accompanies Me & As Yet Unborn Maeflower on that long journey down the Birth Canal which she didn't end up taking because she was an Emergency Caesarian?

It looks like a wig. But it wasn't. It was a perm. Do you remember them? They always looked puky.

At the v. last moment we finally decided to swot up on having an Active Birth. In fact, Marge was still reading the book aloud in the car on the way to the hospital.

Fat lot of good it did us too.

My wonderful poodle Peggy was never one to be Left Out of Anything, so of course she had to lie right in the middle of all the action. Unfortunately, she didn't accompany us to the hospital which was a shame because she would have cheered us all up immensely.

This is what she looked like when she finally appeared. The red hair was a wonderful surprise. Who would have thought? Oooo....the Power & Magic of Genes!

Sadly, in this photo, Maeflower looks a little like one of those Poor Little Romanian Orphans from the Eighties or whenever it was. She was only two weeks old. And I hadn't learned to be a Proper Mother yet. But I did finally get the hang of it. Look at her delicate little expressive hands.

In this photo, Maeflower was nearly six & totally gorgeous & wonderful.

We're at Disneyland. I had dreamt for decades about getting on Dumbo. And also the Tea Cups.

With Mae at my side, everything is an Adventure.

And here we are last year doing something that we've been doing together since the day I brought her home from the hospital.

Shopping.

Flapping My Bingo Wings

Hello & Welcome , Internetlings!

Behold me at last week's Boot Camp Extravaganza.

I am Mounting an Upsidedown Pod. You can't imagine how tricky it was.

Miss Jay, the Games Mistress had to hold on to me for quite some time until I got whatever Bearings I Still Have. Apparently, the older you get, the more balance you lose. That's why old people take little mincing steps instead of Big Strides when they run. Or perhaps Trot.

You may have noted that I'm wearing a Pedometer. It told me that I took over 14,000 steps that day.

So many steps......So much effort.

What on earth was I doing all day, I wondered? Certainly Not participating in the New York Marathon, which is what Miss Jay will be doing in November.

I seem to remember that I spent quite some time at the Whiteboard.

And then of course I had to trot up to 'Zinc' to get my Second Latte. A couple of short trips to the bathroom. And down a few flights of stairs to The School Canteen where I ordered a chicken roll with Aoli & semi-sundried tomatoes.

Perhaps the Pedometer was faulty.

Finally Miss Jay was able to let go. I use my hands to Create the Illusion of Balance.

It worked.

Lastly, here I am flapping my Bingo Wings, dreaming of at last riding a surfboard.

Just like Gidget, the Heroine of my Pubescent Years.

If I Wore a Venetian Mask Everyday, I'm Sure My Life Would Change

Bonjorno! And Welcome to Me.

Please note my Badly Spelled, or is it, Spelt? Greeting. In fact, I know so little Italian that I'm not entirely sure if I have spelled it incorrectly.

Anyway, I'm speaking Italian because I've just been watching a programme on Venice presented by English author Peter Ackroyd CBE, who seems to be Completely Unperturbed by the fact that he has a V. Noticeable Lisp. Throughout the show, he made an Absolute Point of saying as many words as he could with the letter 'R' in them, as that was his bete noire.

Now there's another Foreign Word that I'm not sure if I've spelled/spelt correctly, or in fact whether I've used it correctly.

Twenty million tourists visited Venice last year & I wasn't one of them.

And a good thing too. What an Absolute Nightmare.

I would have much preferred to visit it back in the eighteenth century, when sometimes the Mask-Wearing Carnivale went on for six whole months. Everyone, including judges, had to get up every morning & put on a mask, & if you didn't, you could be jailed, or fined or Severely Punished.

Apparently, all kinds of Louche Behaviour occurred in those back alleys because no one knew who you were.

Personally, I'd love to get up every morning & put on a different Venetian Mask.

I'm sure the day would go Quite Differently from the way it goes right now.

But of course I wasn't planning to talk about Venice.

I wanted to talk about the v. lovely & interesting comments that people posted about the blog name. Thank you v. much. I was soo thrilled.

So, in honour of Della Street Dreaming, I thought I'd post another of my Homage Paintings to The Show. Its a little painting featuring Paul Drake, played by William Hopper, totally hen-pecked son of Hollywood Gossip Columnist Hedda Hopper. Poor Bill was so sick of being nagged by Mum that he sadly died I think pretty much after the series was cancelled.

I've made that last bit up. Not the bit about him dying. But the bit about him dying because he was fed up with Mum. But let's just say that I've always thought it was true.

In the painting, Paul is apprehending a Greedy & Vindictive School Prefect who was stealing cakes out of girl's lockers.

Back to Me.

Here I am today at an unadorned whiteboard. I'm wearing one of my newly-made necklaces from my New Collection which doesn't yet have a name. If you can think of one, I'd love to steal it.

But I have given the necklace a Name. Its called 'The Suburban Buddha'. If you click on the image to enlarge it you will perhaps see why. A v. lovely wooden Buddha has been stuck on to a shell & an old screw-on earring like the ones that my Poor Old Grandmother used to wear has been stuck on to it. If that makes sense.

Perhaps you may care to know that I'm wearing a genuine Calvin Klein jacket that has a Nasty Unsightly Stain on the sleeve which is why they are slightly rolled up. The dress is by Australian Fashion Royalty, Scanlon & Theodore. Of course I got them at 'BednobsEtc'.

Lastly, I have No Real Desire to own a pair of Jimmy Choos. But I do love this ad featuring I think, Quincy Jones.

Please enlarge it if you can be bothered as I want you to inspect my newly-thrifted Sadly Toy Chanel Scarf. On monday afternoon, I was plodding home from school , grimly determined NOT to detour into 'BednobsEtc'. I had a V.V. Elderly Lady to visit in hospital who I've mentioned a few posts ago & who I'm not going to walk you through now.

But my legs couldn't help walking into the shop even though my Mind was sternly telling them not to.

The legs must be Deeply Intuitive because what did I behold as soon as I walked into the shop - TWO Chanel Scarves, both for ten bucks. The cheery assistant said that she thought they were real. At first I was only going to buy ONE, the navy one, which is my new favourite colour. I was trying to be generous to others. But then the Other Side of my personality emerged, & I greedily grabbed both. And I haven't felt even the teeniest bit guilty.

Yet.

Oh, they're not real sadly. Why I got them home, I inspected them forensically.

Perhaps An Ectoplasm

Its just soo Destination Bedtime now. But I just had to show you this photo taken just moments before my guests arrived last evening for our weekly 'Mad Men' dinner.

1. I am wearing a sequinned singlet top with An Unfortunate Hankerchief Hem skirt that I persist in wearing, masses of black beads & some v. cheap rhinestones & my brand new twelve dollar silver ballet slippers with brand new black sockettes from 'Target' where the clothes are awful but where the Shoes & Sox Shine.

AJ, who never holds back, remarked that in this Sparkling Outfit, I could sashay twenty metres up the road where Sydney's Red Light District is conveniently located & make a few extra bucks.

2. Note what appears to be An Ectoplasm on the left of the photo. I showed it to my guests once they arrived. No one could come up with an Plausible Explanation.

I do so love a Mystery.

A Lousy Skipper Always Blames Her Rope

Welcome Interneters!

Its monday nite & I've spent far far too much time this evening watching TV.

I've just sat for a good ten minutes marvelling at the Deep Timbre of Tim Gunn's voice, the host of 'Project Runway'. I'm sure if I continued to focus for long enough, I would have become An Enlightened Being.

Now its teetering dangerously close to Destination Bedtime, so I must speedily type in Stream of Consciousness. Or perhaps in Dot Points. Or Both.

Just imagine Virginia Woolf's, 'Mrs Dalloway' written in dot points.

Would it make it a more Satisfying Reading Experience, I wonder?

As I'm fond of saying In Real Life, Cut To the Chase, Middleagedteacher.

Behold me as a Failed Skipper at last week's Boot Camp Experience.

I absolutely couldn't skip.

I blamed the rope. It just didn't have any spring in it.

But then a Lousy Skipper always Blames Her Rope.

I wonder if Mrs Dalloway skipped?

Perhaps Virginia herself should have skipped which may have stopped her from filling her deep coat pockets with the stones.

And then she may not have drowned.

I know that I could skip to some extent at perhaps ten, maybe even older.

At school, we used to have these Enormously Nerve-Wracking Skipping Extravaganzas at lunchtime where two Failed Skippers turned a vast rope & everyone in the entire class lined up to skip into it, if that's the correct Skipping Terminology.

Honestly, when it was my turn, I felt like I was about to face a Firing Squad.

Its good to look back & reflect & know that you've always had everything in perspective, isn't it?

Here's two Fellow Boot Campers - Madge & Nads. They are much taller than me. And years younger. I run around behind them panting & grunting like a Little Elderly Knome. I use Foul Language when I box. They don't mind. I'm grateful.

I'd love a Reality Series to be made about us - 'The Real Boot Campers of Boot Camp' perhaps.

Lastly, this is a v. flattering pose. I do recommend it.

But after four weeks of Boot Camp I do think that my Front Area has improved.

Lastly lastly, I did really appreciate the comments/suggestions from Readers about my blog name. Thank you. I think I'll keep Della Street going for a while longer.