Bags, Balls, Hairs and Cakes

I had my hair cut last night on account of it being Christmas.
My hairdresser, the lovely droning Lisa told me all about her dad in Spain, her lodger, Max, her desire for a large Christmas lunch and what to do if I decide to dye my greying hair blonde! Bless her bleached locks! I told her I'm happy to be grey and anyway there's something rather charming about silver haired elfs in stilettos.
She was not amused so I decided to give up trying to make her laugh and sat quietly on my wonky bedroom chair.
After she snipped my hair off to within an inch of its life I handed her some cash and wished her a merry Christmas, before ever so gently shoving her out into the cold. It looks great by the way.

Today I went to Sainsburys and the woman on the till asked if I'd brought any of my own bags. "Yes" I smiled "Twenty" "Oh" she said glumly "I can't do all of them, I'll just do ten".....What IS the point of asking customers to re-use carrier bags if the shop isn't prepared to give me a Nectar point for each re-used bag?

As I write this the aroma of a baking Fruit cake is making me dribble. SPLAT! The aforementioned cake is for Mum and Dad who I'll be seeing tomorrow. Their simple presents are done up like mummies, and their silly-sized, garish, childish card is staring at me from the corner of the room. I love being stupid.

The Snooker is on in the kitchen. Welshman Mark Williams is playing Essex boy Ali Carter. I want Ali to win, not because he's an Essex boy but because I don't like Mark Williams, he always looks dirty!

On the Horsehound menu for tonight Nasi Goreng. I had a Risotto last night and so therefore am rapidly running out of rice. But if I could eat anything right now it'd be a large Custard Tart....
Thank you God for giving me an almost indestructible sense of humour for without it I would surely die.