Snooker today on BBC2.... in between domestic duties.

Duties like:

Denzel Washington in The Bone Collector. Freeze frame the bit where he stares and swears. Love it.

Arranging appt. for hair. Caught a glimpse of it in a recent home movie and I resembled Lenny the Lion. Got to get it off. Lisa is a dream, will arrive a little late, caked in make-up and will then, in a matter of say, half an hour, transform me from Queen of the Jungle to Pixie on Fire.

Chicken pie, the making up thereof. How many more pies can I eat without exploding to a size 12?

Changing handbags. Which means my brain has been dazzled by the acquisition of a new woolly and so therefore it's all change in the accessory dept.

A few minutes of deep Feet concentration. Looked at the things this morning after a quick drip shower and pondered their miserable existence...Stuffed into tight boots, wrapped for hours in socks/stockings/industrial strength tights and squeezed into killer heels. They need attention. So out will come the Electric Sander.

I've got to go...Snooker is starting and I have to work my evilness on Ronnie O'Sullivan... AKA Son of Lucifer.

Ta ta..!