My Muse is disappearing into the wall and that is good because now I can concentrate on real life. And real life is always better than fantasy. Isn't it?

"Forcing myself out from under your cloak
I grasp the hands of the sun
allowing the pain
to scar me
it makes me
And I'm not afraid"

(My Muse doesn't leave without a fight...Bless Her)

It's been a queer day.
Decent humdrum mixed with a surprising phone call which could, could change my life a little. (I'm such a drama queen!)
So now with this stinking cold for company and a funny old day behind me, I go to bed to wonder.

Here quick listen to this...
I re-arranged my employers peach angel, instead of having her lounging behind some Walt Disney DVD's I recklessly sat her between two candles on the master's mantelpiece. Then I made a a cup of tea. No wait it gets better, after plumping up his gigantic cushions I turned them over too so that their patterned bottoms sat side by side on his enormous chocolate coloured settee, he won't notice on account of him being a man. And wait listen to this, although there wasn't a decapitated mouse on the mat like last time, there were some strange items in his upstairs wastepapaper basket, I didn't look too closely you understand, but I think he and his girlfriend did a bit of dressing up the weekend. There was a large cardboard tube, one snagged black stocking, a handful of black hair and two batteries. Horrible.
Now after I did upstairs I did downstairs and that was almost as shocking, not only was there a partly unpacked suitcase in the downstairs bedroom but he'd left a good length of red rubber hospital tubing by the spices in the kitchen, he's had his arm in a sling for a couple of weeks and I suppose that accounts for the rubber. But I have to say I was shocked, it nearly put me off me next cup of tea.
I really can't natter any more because I have my own home to clean and my own baskets to empty.
Cheerio:)

Gamine and Chips

It was zingingly hot yesterday, so what was I doing clamped to a barber's chair? Read on.

When I was a silly young thing my hair reached my waist, but now as I enter my second silly childhood my hair is to my ears. And by jolly jingo does it feel good. No more the blow drying, no more my hair feeling like a helmet on account of the lacquer lavished upon it. And no more resembling a Charlie's Angel.

I decided to go 'gamine' a few years ago and it was one of my better decisions. But what puzzles, nay, annoys me, is the continual amazement from so called 'stylists' who all happen to be female by the way, when I say I want it 'really short' they look at me in a kind of pitying way. "You sure?" some ask "Yes" I nod. "It might stick up" they whimper. "I want it short" I insist.

Now about yesterday.

I was desperate to get it cut and as I didn't fancy driving to Southend I headed for my local barbers! "He'll do it" I thought as I skipped to the little barbers next to the bakers.

As I entered the male emporium, 'Head Hunters' there were two reasonably tidy grey-haired men waiting (one was eating chips) while a WOMAN of about forty-five liberally waxed up a young guy's hair, my heart sank as I sank into the burnt umber leatherette chairs. "I Want A Man" I screamed inside, I don't want ladies handling my locks any more, they don't do it right.
But I was wrong.
Anyway I sat amongst the magazines listening to Vernon Kay and I wasn't thrown out, so I made myself comfortable and waited.

The men were seen to by the lady barber in a slow and methodical manner.
"Blimey" I thought "I'm going to miss The Weakest Link at this rate." So as I couldn't do anything, I just let it all wash over me.

"Would you like to come over?" she asked looking at me a bit old fashioned. And as my legs dangled from the chair I chirped up "Short all over please, especially at the back."
She did a Victoria, she was not amused.

"Short?" she asked
"Yes short" I echoed
"How short?"
Holding an inch of hair between my fingers I said "This short"
"You sure?"
"Yep"
After spraying some water on to my hair she began cutting and chatting.
"I won't do a number four" she said "It'd be too masculine and you don't want to look like a lesbian....."

I sighed the biggest sigh ever, and as I watched her through the mirror I felt rather sorry for her. Here was a professional middle-aged woman assuming that all women who prefer short hair must be gay. I've realized that just because you've made it to forty or fifty you've not suddenly become wise or sensible. I did hope however that beneath her unimpressive rug of blonde hair she possessed a little artistry.

"What's your name?" I asked
"Lisa" she said "I used to work in the city in insurance, but now I do this, I prefer it. Max who owns this shop is away for the day, and he doesn't do ladies hair, but I do. I have to pay him half of everything so that's why I'm into other things too....."

Every few minutes she'd ask impertinent questions like "Do you work?" and "Where do you live?"
"I rob banks and live in London" I said winking at her. That shut her up.
So after much chopping and whizzing of the trimmer thing she said "It suits you"
"Yes it does" I said cocking my head to one side."And thank you."

Her parting shot was a gem.

"I do do home visits you know" she whispered " Some of my older ladies prefer it"
After hitting her over the head I left.

Move Over Gus!

Bins.
Not one, not two but three.
The council wants me and hundreds of other innocent folk to run outside with our shattered light bulbs, cat litter, tea bags and egg shells and put all these delightful things into different bins.
Now I'm all for helping my planet but if I get any more bins I'll have to move Gus! (see pic above)
Let me elaborate a bit more.
I had a few bits left of my fried lunch today, (had sausage and tomato) I also had lots of teabags and grass cuttings, (been mowing and gasping)) uncooked ribbons of dough (been making a cherry pie) And after each of these wonderfully mundane events I had to go out to the bins and drop these various bits and bobs inside the various silly bins.
I blame Gordon Brown...

Gone are the days when all my rubbish went in to the one big bin, now I've got to dance between all three of the blighters, and I'm not so nimble any more so it's more of a waltz than a jive! Another thing is they are all different colours and that is such a blight on the Horsehound landscape.


Things I've done recently:
Slept for eight hours
Recorded a ghost story for this blog which I wrote a long time ago.
Discovered Coconut Oil is good for my knees
Discovered that one of the aforementioned my knees is turning a bit inwards.
Bought the most boring blouse ever.
Got a fabulous perfume from Mum and Dad. 'Beautiful' by Estee Lauder. I could still smell it on my clothes even after I'd washed them. That's some scent!
Made Samosas and was a bit heavy handed with the spices and then dreamt about distraught pigs on aeroplanes crying into pillow cases!
Tip: Go easy on Coriander Seeds

Back to the bins, I wonder how many men and lorrys will be required to take away my cornucopia of rubbish. Absolute nonsense that's what it is, but I suppose planet Earth is worth fighting for and she is all we've got, so bring on the bins!