I Should Have Been A Stripper

Well THAT got your attention!

Folks, today you find me in a very warm and fuzzy mood, for I have been given ... an award! Yes, me! L'il ol' me. Who'd have thought it?

The too gorgeous for words Baglady has given me the "I Shoulda Been A Stripper" Award. Frankly, you can keep your Bafta, your Oscar, and your Emmy. This is where it's at!

So, there's rules to this 'ere award.

a) Post the award.

Done. Here it is. Look!

b) List seven personality traits, as evidenced on your blog.

1) A stickler. I can't bear bad grammar. It bugs me.

2) Mild paranoia. I live in the knowledge that, for all I am a stickler, you read this, circling my grammatical errors. I know they're out there. I can hear them laughing at me ...

3) Independence. Probably to a fault. I'm kind of used to doing my own thing, so I just do. But that sometimes means that, when I have to incorporate someone else into what I'm doing, I fail.

4) Creative. I'm a bit artsy. I make stuff and decorate stuff and then I pack it in pretty paper. I do love to make things that have no function but to look good. I'm currently making a bunch of beaded carrots. Well ... why not?!

5) Sweet tooth. If it's dipped in chocolate, I like it. If it's got a sugary shell, it's mine. I'll wrestle a child to the floor for a jelly sweet. I am, and will ever be, grateful that I'm not diabetic.

6) Nosey. I love to people watch. There are places in the world where I could happily sit for hours and just stare. If someone next to me has a book or a newspaper or a magazine, I have to read it over their shoulder. If someone is sending a text, I read that too. I am filled with glee when I walk past a house which has lights on and curtains open. I am too beaky by half!

7) Smutty. I am a firm believer in bum jokes being the funniest. There is nothing like a good drop of innuendo, or a double entendre. I do like to be able to waggle my eyebrows whilst saying "ooh err missus" (or similar). And who doesn't think that a bit of a cheeky fart is hilarious? *chortle chortle*

c) Give the award to seven others of notable personality and let them know.

Well this is tricky. Like Baglady, I'm aware that some people won't do it. She has also, curse her, sent it to two of the people I would have sent it to myself. Rats! So I'm cheating on this front, and sending it only to five.

The fabulous Amelia at 101 Bird Tales

The gorgeous Gillian at Fabric Nation

The very sophisticated Millennium Housewife

The currently glowing Molly at Oh For The Love Of Blog

And last, but by no means least, a blog I am quite new to, but am very much enjoying, the domestic goddess, Becky, at Teacups, Cupcakes

So there we have it! My very first (possibly my last) prize. Thanks Baglady, you lovely lady, you. I'm more chuffed (chufter?) than I can say.

I'm getting hitched!

Very near my current office (and regrettably far from my new office) is the stupendously fabulous Mrs Kibble's Sweet Shop.


Picture, if you will, the sweet shop that would feature in a period drama, or in a Disney film. It's a tiny shop, not big enough to swing even the tiniest of cats, and the windows and walls are lined with jars filled with the sweets of my youth.


I have told you before about my dirty liquorice comfit habit, and it's Mrs Kibble who is my dealer. I'm there regularly. It's getting embarrassing.


Today, I went to get some sweets for a friend. I don't say a "a friend" meaning "me". I really mean they were for a friend. Really ... I do. Oh, what's the point! Anyway, whilst there, I noticed some bags under the counter of cinder toffee.


Oh, sweet heaven! A cellophane baggie full of delicious reminiscences! What joy! It was divine. Nom, nom, nom!


But here's the best bit. In an email exchange with the very gorgeous Baglady I mentioned my purchase, and she made me this promise ...


If I will learn to make cinder toffee, she will leave Mr Manbag, and marry me!


Dearest reader, I am happy to confirm that I have accepted. I'm hoping for a jelly ring on my finger any day now!

Gruesome Gourmet

BOO!
Did I scare you? Did I? Eh, eh?

It's been a spooky old day. A trip to the usually sophisticated Northcote Road was strewn with ghoulish beings. A delicate blond wallflower of a girl walked towards me along in the tunnel at Clapham Junction station with a scythe in one hand, and a bag in the other, out of which spouted two green arms. Later, I passed a group of well set rugby player types, all wearing capes, torn shirts (phew!) and some pretty terrifying bloody makeup.

Pumpkins glimmered at me from shop windows and broomsticks leaned in doorways. In one shop, a bowl of chocolate eyeballs winked at me by the till. "Would you like one?" the shop assistant asked. Erm ... no thanks!

And my, how things have changed, since I used to go trick-or-treating wearing my Mum's long black petticoat and a rollneck! Since I've got h0me I've been visited by little witches with plastic heads on sticks, and zombie fairy princesses. I've had a lot of ghouls and ghosts and gremlins at the door wailing a terrible oooooooohhhhhhhhh! as I walk down the hallway. I've even had a visit from Batman, who's mother was convinced, after a lot of persuasion, to stick around for a G&T ...

I've seen Mums and Dads who've made every bit as much effort with their makeup and hats, standing dutifully back, and refusing the sweets on offer with a rueful shake of the head. The children come equipped with a bucket to collect their treats - a fabulous range of disembodies heads and spider covered baskets are held out for sweet treats.

But one thing out spooks the lot. One thing has made the rest pale into insignificance. One thing is more alarming looking that any other single scary happening today ...

... the state of my kitchen having boiled beetroot. It's a bloodbath in there!! Eeeek!