A4 Waist Challenge

Doing the #A4WaistChallenge. Next up, I'll be going for the TT Coupé...

Pair of Staffordshire Dogs

I'm just trying to label up some of these things that your father's fetched for me from Peter Wilson's. Should this be a 'SMALL PAIR OF STAFFORDSHIRE DOGS' or a 'PAIR OF SMALL STAFFORDSHIRE DOGS'? I'm so addled these days, I can't work out where adjectives need to go. I think it must be because of the duvet turmoil. Your father's always cold and wants the 12.5 tog one on. I'm too hot because of the memory foam, so I only want the 4.5 tog. I might just have to get a mattress topper to sort it all out, only the bed's already so high that I have to jump to get in. I'd ask Mary for advice, only you can't ring her up if the rugby or The Archers is on, so there aren't that many windows of opportunity. Anyway, I'm going to take up watercolour painting, so go on the Google and see if there are any art shops left anywhere, because I can't bloody well find any.

Macarena 2015 (Stoke-on-Trent remix)

Tantamount to Abuse of the Elderly

Cadbury Twirl Withdrawal

I don’t know whether I’m coming or going at the moment. I was so hungry the yesterday, that I had to go over and take a biscuit that was meant to be for some stroke patients. They just looked at me, but I had to take one. I’d only had a Scotch egg all day and I was about to faint. It’s all because your father’s stopped buying my usual Cadbury Twirls and I’m having withdrawal. He goes to Lidl and gets these foreign things, but they’re just not the same. He said he’d bought me a treat the other day and it turned out to be a bottle of bleach. I mean, what can you do?

So I’ve had to go to Tesco myself and now I’ve got myself set up for the week with six Twirls.

And I’ve not slept properly, because there was a police helicopter hovering over the garden for half an hour last night and policemen chasing a criminal through the garden. It’s shook me right up. And your father just lies there in bed reading. Can you believe it? And to cap it all, someone went on Tripadvisor and said that there are no antiques at Dagfields. They’ve obviously not been to my unit. I was incensed. I ought to post a reply, but I’m too bloody exhausted.

Assorted Items of Rusty Bucketalia and Derelict Farmiana

They go mad for these at Dagfields. They'll fly out. People are always going to need to be able shear sheep manually in the event of a power cut or extended energy crisis and then have somewhere to put the wool.

A Chilling Glimpse of the Future...

 

It's too bloody hot everywhere at the moment. Absolute murder at Dagfields all day yesterday. 28 degrees of heat and 5 post-menopausal women having to work together in a glass box inside a windowless metal barn. I mean, it's asking for trouble. There'll be an incident before long and it's not going to be pretty. Then you find out Sharon can't come because BT are coming round and you've got to look after Robbie the Dog all day, and he stinks from rolling around in something unmentionable. And finally, to cap it all, you go to the hairdresser, the air conditioning's broken and all he wants to do is talk about Stoke City and rock music with his mate that's just walked in off the street whilst he should be focussing on my wash-in tint... 

Jury Service

They've just rung me up and I've got to be at the bloody Crown Court for 3 weeks to do this jury service. 3 weeks! How am I supposed to cope with that? I can barely stand up after spending all of Bank Holiday Monday at Dagfields and I still haven't priced up these Beanie Babies. Anyway, be quiet while I watch Jonathan Pratt valuing these antique walking sticks. That one was originally a bull's penis, apparently...

Getting to grips with Google Hangouts

Auditioning for Antiques Road Trip

I don't bloody know whether I'm coming or going with this constant changing of cars and motorbikes that your father does. One minute it's a Mitsubishi, the next minute it's a Citroen and now it's this bloody Mazda. How anyone can expect me to get into anything this low with my pelvis, I don't know.  And this boot's ridiculous. You could barely even get an Art Deco radium glass sucrier into it, let alone a Moorcroft jardinière.