Teaser


I have a friend (Yeah, really!) who always posts a single word post on Facebook and waits to see how many people comment on it. Ten minutes later, if no one has commented she’ll go and open up the topic.

What’s that got to do with anything?  Absobloodylutely sod all.

It’s just that I haven’t got anything to write about and that’s all I could think of – and as it always says in the ‘how to’s’ you should just start to write so here I am.

Apologies in advance for the disjointed drivel that you’ve just read and for that to follow. It’s not even as though nothing has happened this week – loads has happened, just not things that I think are appropriate to share on here. Mostly because it’s been the crap week from hell and since I’m positive thinking at the moment I don’t want to dwell on it. To be honest, the only thing I’m feeling positive about today is that I’m completely and utterly naffed off, tired, emotional and drained. Douggie the doggie having a fit in the early hours of this morning didn’t help matters much. I’ll resume my attitude of gratitude tomorrow.

So. Day off today.

It’s tough being a florist’s assistant. It’s also super busy at this time of year. I went from helping to make a Christmas arrangement to helping to make a coffin top arrangement to Facebooking and updating the website, all in the space of an hour yesterday.  So much for retirement. It’s so busy I’m  working up to and including Christmas Eve.

That brings me nicely to the season of goodwill.

I popped over to have a gander at Manchestercflickchick’s blog, as is my wont. Good blog, go and take a look, say I sent you. Imagine my delight when I read a whole post dedicated to Christmas. Yay! It was one of those nominate jobbies but she didn’t nominate me. I was gutted.  Anyway, God loves those who help themselves – so I helped myself to a nomination and Here it is: my Christmas themed self indulgence fest.

Let’s talk about me…….

Favourite festive food: Where to start? Bring it all on. Christmas morning croissants and champagne at bezzie mates. Christmas dinner with ALL the trimmings, Christmas pudding. Yup. I love it all. I don’t even mind doing all the cooking. If I have a lot of people to cook for then that means that I have all my favourite people around me. What’s not to love? This year I’m going a little bit away from our traditional smoked salmon for a starter and going with beef carpaccio, also known as food of the Gods or manna from heaven.  Nomnomnomnomnomnom. I feel a bit sick now :(

Favourite Christmas drink: Can I have two? Advocaat should be made compulsory at Christmas and then banned for the rest of the year. Christmas just isn’t Christmas without thick, gloopy, weirdly tasting advocaat mixed with dry ginger. Then there’s the Christmas sherry. I quite like a nice dry sherry. I wouldn’t normally drink it but when I do I can’t stop myself from saying in a shrill voice at regular intervals, “More sherry, vicar?” as I hold out my glass for a refill.

Favourite reindeer: Hhhmm. It has got to be Rudolph as the rest of them are a set of two faced, laughing, name calling  bitches. I hate bullies.

Favourite day of Christmas: All of them, starting in mid December.  In the last week I have foraged a tree from the garden to paint and decorate with icicles and snowflakes, I’ve foraged twigs and ivy to make a Christmas tree. Tomorrow I’ll be making my table decorations from leylandii and wine bottles. Christmas is a crafter’s dream! I  love the run up to it, I love the excitement, the gift buying and wrapping, the cooking, the visiting, the chaos, the giving and receiving of gifts, the meaning of Christmas. I’m not a church goer now but have some very deep seated beliefs, which is why I get so pissed off when people get all politically correct and start referring to it as ‘the holidays’. It’s a Christian celebration. Christ – mas, the clue is in the name. Got it? *catches rant before it starts*  I suppose my favourite day has to be the day itself but only by a whisker.  Did I mention I love it?

Favourite Christmas song: Easy peasy. It’s the one Douggie the doggie and me danced to at the dog club party last year. Louis Armstrong’s Zat you Santa Clause? I can’t help but smile when I hear it and Louis Armstrong has a special little place in my heart anyway.

Favourite Christmas present: Another easy one. Although I’ve had many, many brilliant presents over the years, the one that springs to mind is the Sindy doll I got as a little girl. It was in the days before that long legged and big boobed American imposter, barbie really caught on here. I loved my Sindy doll and was distraught when my little brother pulled her head off on Boxing Day.

Favourite Christmas film: Ok, ok, I know I’m supposed to say “It’s a Wonderful Life’ but it aint. It’s Elf. Ok? There, I said it in public.

Favourite Christmas tv advert: It’s caused a lot of controversy but I love the Sainsbury’s advert about the first world war ceasefire on Christmas day. I wonder how many people realise that it’s a true story? It makes me cry every time I see it.

Favourite Christmas decoration:  As my daughter can tell you, I fall in love with anything rustic. My absolute favourite decoration is a rustic fairy dressed in brown and gold with long golden hair….Oh. But then there’s my collection of Father Christmas’s I love all of them, tricky to choose.  This year’s favourite? My big balls. Haha. Oo-er missus! I bought some giant balls for the tree. Every tree needs giant balls. Doesn’t that just paint a great picture in your head?

Favourite festive tradition: Well, every year follows pretty much the same routine. Brekkie with bezzie, drinks at Len’s mum and dad’s, everyone round to ours for pressies and dinner. That’s the way I like it so I have to say my favourite tradition is all of it!  Don’t even get me started on why anyone would go for a curry on Christmas day. That’s just bizarre. One year we went to a restaurant for Christmas dinner. It snowed, it was beautiful, there was lovely music, no bickering, the atmosphere was brilliant, the meal was so much better than I could have cooked. It was all wrong, wrong, wrong. Christmas should be at home with the family.  Which brings me to….

Place to spend Christmas: See above.

So there it is, my perfect Christmas. If you’re still here, thank you for indulging me. I’m in a much better mood now. Time for a snooze on the settee while I watch Elf again. When you get a minute, why don’t you tell me all about your perfect Christmas?

A right tit


Here’s a picture of a right tit.

Source: Internet
Source: Internet

And here’s another one.

Source: Internet
Source: Internet

Yup. it’s Nigel Farage, that racial tension mongering arse. He taps into the middle aged, middle class, just below the surface racism, sexism and every other kind of ism that sadly people in our peer group seem to subscribe to.  A nice, law abiding, civilised bunch on the surface with a seedy underbelly of racist and sexism. The ones who bizarrely go round saying “I should paint my face black, the Government would be throwing money at me then.” For God’s sake! Come on people, like it or not we live in a multi racial society now.

Don’t get me wrong, I have very strong views about those who come to live in our county, take full advantage of our benefits, health and education system and them condemn our society as it doesn’t fall into line with their religious beliefs.

I have incredibly  strong views about those who come to live in this country and then refuse to integrate or learn the language. Such a refusal to become part of their adopted country can only lead to suspicion and tension as certain areas of town become no go areas.

I have even stronger views about those who grow up in our country and then hop on a plane to go to terrorist school, returning later to bomb the bejaysus out of us.

However, the majority of immigrants here are hard working and law abiding people who despise these radicals as much as I do. Besides which, most of the Asians in this area are third, fourth, fifth  or more generation and are as English as I am.

Which brings me back to that rabble rouser,  Farage.

For those reading this who may not be in this country or aware of our politics, Nigel Farage is a dickhe……..er, I mean an elected MP and leader of the UKIP party, a right wing ‘give England back to the English’ party.

Sadly, because of his ability to tap straight into middle class and middle age prejudices as well as appealing to the more right wing element of our society, his policies are gaining ground. It’s a terrifying  thought that this man and his thugs should gain any real power in this country.

 Anyway, moving on before I start to rant…..

 His latest jolly jape is to tell mothers to cover up when feeding their babies the way God intended them to.

WHAT?!?

In an attempt to be fair, what actually happened was that a waiter in Claridges rushed over to a breastfeeding mother and told her to cover up or sit in a corner. Of course it quite rightly hit the headlines. Mr Farage in his infinite wisdom decided this was a suitable bandwagon to jump onto and leapt on – in defence of Claridges policy!  Then he wondered why all hell broke out.

 Does the oaf not realise that feeding babies  is exactly what breasts are for?   How on earth can he find it offensive that a baby is being fed from the breasts of it’s mother?  Obviously  finds it more acceptable to see them emblazoned over the pages of a newspaper to be leered at.

As a woman who has breast fed all three of her children I think I can speak for the majority of breast feeding mums when I say that we don’t whip out our baps at the drop of a hat and wave them around for all to see.  I would go so far as to say that no woman in her right mind would choose to  get her baps out in public and when they do so  to feed their babies it is discreetly and quietly. Nothing to see or get offended about here, folks!

Source: internet

Source: internet

Mr Farage, you made a massive boob this time. Carry on just as you’re doing and hopefully we’ll soon be rid of you.

Your dead!


No. That wasn’t a typo in the title.

A photograph popped up on Facebook and it made me howl with laughter – mostly because I’m a total nerd.

Here’s the very picture:

Source: http://www.teamjimmyjoe.com/2013/01/bad-tattoos-13/#.VIRVBN64Qzk
Source: http://www.teamjimmyjoe.com/2013/01/bad-tattoos-13/#.VIRVBN64Qzk

Now that I’ve wiped the tears from my face I can tell you about the time when I went into our local sandwich emporium, or as they call it round here, the butty shop.

There was a sign on the counter announcing the fact that they were selling Pie’s.

Well, being the nerd that I am it was too good a gift to turn down. When it was my turn to be served I asked nonchalantly as I pointed to the sign;

“So. Who’s Pie? What is it of his that you’re selling and does he even know you’re selling his stuff?

Blank looks all round. The words ‘lead’ and ‘balloon’ spring to mind and that amused me even more.

Kept me tittering like schoolboy all day, that did. I am so easily amused.

Having said that, while I make fun of spelling and grammar mistakes, I am genuinely appalled by the standard of education in this country. It seems that not being able to spell or put a simple sentence together is the norm these days. The standard of the graffiti these days is dreadful!

Bearing in mind that my education was severely disjointed, I attended nine different primary schools, two secondary schools and missed  almost two whole years of schooling entirely due to truancy ( I’m not proud of that by the way) by all of the yardsticks that they use to measure likely academic success or failure I should be totally illiterate.

The fact that I’m not illiterate in spite of my disjointed education but so many of our children these days are teetering on the brink of it tells me that there is something seriously wrong with our education system.

Wow. Where did all that come from? I was only going to post a funny picture of a mis-spelled tattoo.

Manly Barrilow


Manly Barrilow seems to be popping up on our screens a lot lately. Boofuls and I were catching up on some of last weeks tv after we got home from Devon last night. Sure enough, halfway through the Jonathan Ross show, up popped Manly shamelessly promoting his latest album in which he sings songs with dead people.

Now I don’t want to be cruel here but really, Manly, lay off the plastic surgery and/or botox, you’re starting to look plasticised. Obviously I’m not the only one to notice.

Jonathan Ross, in his usual discreet way asked Manly if he’s indulged in a spot of er…enhancement which was vehemently denied. “No, this is just how I look at seventy.”

Oh really?

Clearly Philip Schofield didn’t believe him, if the evidence of his rolling eyes and incredulous expression are to be believed, and quite frankly, Manly, I don’t believe you either. You should be careful about telling porky’s like that, you’ll end up with a great big, long schnoz. Oh no, wait, too late!

A funeral direct friend of ours made the comment that Manly looked like he’d been embalmed. Ha! That’s a good trick, pre death embalmment to preserve your failing looks. I’m sure there’d be a market for it. Maybe there already is and Manly is one of the first people to partake of the treatment.

He hasn’t lost his ability to sing though, unlike some stars of the seventies who have been trotted out for our entertainment recently he did manage to get through a short song without wheezing and puffing all the way through.

I heard him on the radio as well yesterday. He was singing a song that used to be one of my favourites but I can never join in because it just sounds ridiculous if an  English person tries to sing it.  Mnay a karaoke artist would do well to recognise that fact.

Anyway, It goes a bit like this,  join in when you recognise it.

Oh you know I caren’t smile without you

I caren’t smile without you

I caren’t laugh and I caren’t sing

I’m finding it hard to do anything

Because I feel sed when you’re sed

I feel gled when you’re gled

If you only noo

Whad I’m going through

I just kent smiiiiiiiile without you.

Y’see, English people singing American style just doesn’t work. It sounds and feels ridiculous. I just doesn’t work in an English accent either. Oh well, best keep away from that particular Manly song.

Some songs just won’t cross the pond.

 

Oh I do like to be beside the seaside


Boofuls, Douggie and me have just got back from a week away in sunny Devon.

“Oh! Have you been away?” I can hear you saying. Dang! I love how you all miss me so much!

Yes we have, we’ve been searching for our perfect home on the south coast.

One day we decided to broaden our search and investigate a few of the other towns and villages along the coast. People kept telling us how nice it was in Sidmouth so we went for a look. Quant little English seaside village. I think it’s actually God’s waiting room. I’ve never seen so many grey haired people all in one place in my life. Pensioners were marauding everywhere with their walking sticks, wheelchairs, zimmer frames and scooters. Don’t get all excited thinking that the pensioners on scooters were zipping round on the scooters of your childhood or on trendy Piaggio’s,  how cool would they be?

No, I’m talking about yer good old mobility scooters.

My mum used to wave a mobility scooter.  It had two speeds: hare and tortoise. It had a picture of a hare and a tortoise on it’s dashboard.  My mum only ever used to use it on the ‘hare’ setting, or as she used to call it, ‘rabbit speed’. She once got told off by a traffic warden for speeding on her scooter. She nearly took his kneecaps off when she came ‘haring’ out of a shop (see what I did there?).

Anyway, back to the pot and talking about getting told off….

Once Boofuls and I had thoroughly investigated Sidmouth we went a bit further round the coast to Dorset and Lyme Regis.

Sigh. To be fair, it wasn’t the best of days, we were cold and tired, the wind was blowing, we were not really dressed for the weather as it had been quite warm when we set off, we were hungry and we were fed up and on the verge of an argument.

We popped out heads into a few of the local eateries to be met with faces of disgust when we enquired if they were dog friendly. That’d be a no then. Eventually we did find somewhere to eat that was warm and welcoming. I partook of the chestnut and mushroom soup which was surprisingly tasty. I’ll be making that.

Once we’d decided that we could really linger in their any longer just keeping warm we decided to head off back to Torquay. “I’ll just take the dog on the beach for  a pee”, said I.

I checked the sign about dogs on the beach: April to November.  Blah blah, yeah, yeah.  Douggie ran off grateful for a chance to stretch his legs while I trudged up the stony beach feeling like I was on the verge of hypothermia. Up ahead the beach became sandy so I headed to that part. To get to it we had to walk on the prom for about eight feet. I decided I’d risk it without putting him on his lead.

As we jumped down onto the sandy beach an officious looking character approached me. Douggie looked like he was about to go and say hello to him so I threw his ball in the opposite direction:

Officious character: “Your dog is off the lead. It’s not allowed to be.”

Me: “Seriously? We only walked on the prom for about eight feet. Just to get onto this beach.”

Him: “You walked all the way down that beach with your dog off the lead. I watched you do it”

Me: “Yes we did.” Looking vacant as I said it, still not realising where this conversation was heading.

Him. ” Didn’t you see the signs.”

Me: “Yes, course I did. April to November. Well it’s December now, what’s the problem?”

Him: Slowly as if talking to a child, “No dogs at all between April and November and dogs on leads at other times.It says it very clearly and you’ve passed at least four of these signs. There’s one there, there, there, there and there and you’ve gone past them all and totally ignored them, I could fine you £70.”

Me: Turning white as the penny drops. “OH NO!! I totally misread it. I’m sorry, (much grovelling).

At this point he was starting to enjoy being able to lecture me and made a point of lecturing me at length about dogs not being allowed to run free on beaches in Lyme Regis, all this while Douggie gambolled happily around his feet and I squirmed with embarrassment.  Eventually, the official realised that the dog was still running loose and instructed me to put his lead on, which I did post haste, still grovelling. My purse was twitching with fear at the thought of having to surrender £70 of it’s hard earned money for not bothering to read a sign correctly.

Eventually the official had had his fill of making me squirm and decided to let me off with a warning. As I hot footed it back to the car a couple who’d been watching with amusement asked me if he’d let me off and informed me that Lyme Regis isn’t known for it’s tolerance for dogs.

We probably won’t be going back there.

Send us your positive vibes


I haven’t fallen out with you, honest. It would appear that having anew job takes up a lot of time. I’ve been working on a nice little story all about our dinner party last week but can’t find the time to finish it. It won’t get finished just now either as I’m about to start a clean up fest.

Why?

Today we have people coming to look at the house.

SQUEEEEEEEEE!!!!

Is this it? Have we found our buyers? Keep your fingers crossed for us.

That’s Entertainment


In a rare moment of feeling hospitable recently I decided to invite some friends over for dinner. We haven’t had a dinner party for aaaaaaaages. Then I decided to invite another couple over as well because I thought they’d get on well with the first couple as they had a lot in common. Well, all the girlies had something in common anyway. We are all, or have been, photographers and all have dogs. All the two chaps have in common is that they have been lucky enough  to bag themselves beautiful and clever wives many years their juniors.

Both lovely couples, I was looking forward to it not least because it gave me chance to flex my culinary muscles and do some proper cooking for a change. Tricky finding  meal that everyone will eat with a picky, picky, picky eater like Boofuls, a fat fighter like me and a vegetarian to cater for. I didn’t want her to feel like she was difficult by serving her something totally different.

So. I made a roasted tomato, red pepper and garlic soup. That fit the bill for everyone. It was rich and unctuous and contained not a single calorie or ounce of flesh. Then I decided to have beef wellington for the main course. I’d love to say I made them but I didn’t, they were on offer in the supermarket and I was still searching for inspiration so I bought them. I did however make the mushroom and chestnut wellingtons with a red wine jus for me and the vegetarian guest, they were deeeeelishus! Then the important bit. Pudding.

I had two massive pineapples at my disposal so I got googling. Memories of schooldays came flooding back to me when image after image of pineapple upside down cake floated across my screen. Nonononono!! I don’t want a schoolgirl pudding. Pineapple carpaccio? Nah. Not very exciting. Pineapple in a caramel rum sauce? Oh yes!

Good old Anthony Worrall Thompson came up trumps with the best pineapple recipe. I put the sugar in the pan to make the  caramel. Swirl it round the pan, he said. I swirled and watched in delight as the sugar melted and became liquid. Pour in the rum and stir he said, be careful, it might spit. I poured and prepared to stir. unfortunately, the sugar in the pan decided to set solid as soon as the liquid touched it. I ended up waving round a spoon with half a pound of solidified sugar attached to it. I bet that never happens to Wozza!

Eventually, after half an hour of stirring a sugar loaded spoon round the solid  sugar melted down and I got the sweet and sticky run sauce I was after. I lured it over the pineapple and put it all in a slow oven to warm through. It was gorgeous served with vanilla ice cream.  Any other flavour would have been a travesty.

The guests arrived, and as I suspected got on like a house on fire. I love it when a plan comes together. The evening passed in a haze of relaxed chatter and good humour. paying careful attention to which friends to put together paid off as everyone got on really well. I’d forgotten how much I like dinner parties. It’s by far my favourite way of spending an evening.

Now that summer and it’s long, warm,  balmy evenings have gone for a few months I think we might be whiling away the winter months by doing a lot more entertaining.

 

Gainfully employed


It’s amazing how fast the novelty wears off, isn’t it?

Just a few short months after finishing work there I was tearing my hair out and getting grumpier and more bored by the day.  The I was thrown a lifeline.

My florist friend sent me a message asking me if I’d like a part time job with her until we move house. OH YES YES! YES! YES PLEASE!

I popped over to see her last week and she told me she wants me to be an extension of herself but more organised. Could i keep her diary, website and Facebook presence more up to date and also to help with day to day jobs.

First task. Make some Christmas trees. That involved going into the garden to cut twigs of various colours and then cutting them to size and wiring them into the shape of a Christmas tree and then decorating them. Beautiful, rustic, absolutely up my street. I felt like I should have been paying her. Who knew that floristry involves so much cement?

Second task. Make three Christmas garlands. Again using natural materials, I was in my element. I think I’m going to enjoy this little jobette until we move.

Talking of moving. We have actually got someone to come and view the house next week. Keep your fingers, toes and anything else you have crossed and send us your vibes. It’s well past time we were living in Devon.

This morning I was going to do a round up of all the week’s news but to be honest I’m exhausted. We had a little dinner party last night and invited people who hadn’t met before as I knew they’d hit it off. Good grief. They hit it off alright, they were still here at 1.00a.m. Boofuls and I were almost asleep at the table. I’m normally in bed by eleven at the latest. You might have to wait till tomorrow for the week’s round up. I’m going for a little snooze now. G’night.

I know he’s here somewhere


Mr Douggie the Doggie managed to break the penultimate rule a while ago and was allowed to start sleeping in our bedroom with us. The ultimate rule is ‘no dogs on the bed’ which he tries to break on a regular basis but gets met with a sharp ‘GET OFF!!’ Every other rule in the book went by the board a long time ago. “I’ll never let him on the furniture”,  for instance. Now he just jumps up and gets settled wherever and whenever he feels like it, usually using me as a pillow. Ok, I admit it, I like the doggie snuggles while I’m watching a bit of evening telly.

To be fair, we only relaxed the bedroom rule so he could alert us if he was going to have a seizure but I have to be honest, I hate him being in the bedroom.

As if Boofuls doesn’t make enough noise in his sleep now I also have to contend with the pooch snoring, dreaming, smacking his lips, flopping around all over the floor rather than sleeping on his own lovely chocolate coloured bed, stretching, twitching  and scratching, waking me up for a cuddle in the middle of the night ( you’d think he’s know that that was going to be a non starter) and generally having me awake half the night wondering if he’s ok.

A side effect of being woken up seventy five times a night is that I need to visit the bathroom more than I used to. There must be a direct link between my eyeballs and my bladder.  As soon as I open my eyes my bladder says  hello.

Going to the bathroom during the night never used to be an issue. Get up, walk to bathroom, pee, walk back, get back into bed. Easy. However, now we’ve changed the bedroom carpet it’s not so easy. I climb out of my lovely warm bed and then stand there for a minute trying to decipher where in the room Douggie is. Spotting a cream coloured dog on a cream coloured carpet in a room that’s blacker than a black thing because there’s no such thing as street lighting where we live, is no mean feat.

Once I’ve successfully located him, by peering like Mr Magoo into the dark, I usually find him stretched out to his full length at some impossible angle and nowhere near his bed, I have to try and get past him without standing on him. Again, easy. You think?

In the good old days before I developed plantar fasciitis it was ok. Now my poor feet tingle and throb and just don’t want to move. My first four or five steps look remarkably like those of your average 100 year old, wobbly, painful and uncertain. One move from Douggie as I’m gingerly stepping over him will see me go ear over elbow in a most ungainly fashion.

Amazingly, by the time I’ve reached the bathroom door I’m able to walk normally again so the walk back to bed is nowhere near as treacherous. I climb back into my lovely warm bed and snuggle down trying to get back to sleep before the next disturbance which usually happens as the first rays of light are just starting to break through and Douggie decides it’s time to get up.  He sticks his cold, snotty wet nose on my face and bashes his tail against the radiator like a gong.

My first words of every day used to be “Good morning, darling.” Now it’s “Feck off, dog! It’s fecking 6 o’clock!”. It’s no way to start the day. Of course then I’m wide awake so I lie there fuming for a while telling my eyeballs not to tell my bladder I need a wee and then I end up getting up.

With the amount of sleep deprivation I have at the moment it’s amazing I’m not walking round every day tearing the heads of people and breathing fire. These seizures have got a lot to answer for. Tell me again why I wanted a dog.

Adipose Anonymous


It was all a bit lively at my weekly Adipose Anonymous meeting this morning. My newly rediscovered joie do vivre must have been on show because as soon as I walked in up went a shout of “Hey! Our Lesley’s back! We’ve missed you.”

“I’ve been here every week.”

“yeah but now YOU’RE back.”

Heh. That was nice. There was a lot of giggling and silliness going on today. At one point the leader told us that we were being obstreperous. Ha! That was a mistake. Just about every one in the room tried out their own way of saying it and the consensus was that locally it’s pronounced ‘obstrockolous.’ Funny, that’s how my first husband used to say it.

Anyway, you may put your congratulations in the comments box, dear reader. Yours truly is officially no longer a porky bint as I’ve got back to my goal weight. Yay! That’s been hard work. Fair to say I’m feeling very pleased with my little self today. Things are looking up.

On a totally non related note:

I was standing in the kitchen the other day cleaning up the debris that occurs and a ridiculously regular basis when I heard a sound like water pouring.

“What the ………? Oh no!!!”

I’d somehow and without noticing knocked over a jug of water and the whole lot poured off the worktop and straight into a 12 kilo bag of dog food.  Fer Gawd’s sake!! You couldn’t make it up.

Not prepared to throw away £60 of dog food I spread it all out on baking trays and spread them out all over the kitchen to dry out. My God, that stuff stinks when it’s out of the bag! Poo-wee! It took two days to dry it all out. It didn’t cross my mind to put it in the oven to dry out  until I was scooping the last bit back into it’s bag.

 

Rants, raves and ramblings about whatever takes my fancy

Manchester Flick Chick

Style, ethical-beauty, reviews, food and drink.

Wish I Were Here

The literary journeys of J.D. Riso

Reigning Cats and Dogs

A scientific perspective on companion animal behaviour and welfare, by veterinary behaviourist Dr Rachel Casey

The Wine Wankers

Smile :) You’re at the best wine blog ever! Scroll down to read our fun stories, and join our journey as we fight through the wine jargon in search of a good glass of wine. Wine blogs; the best place to read about wine online! We're rated as one of the most influential wine people on the net by Klout and Kred. Contact: winewankers@hotmail.com

Womanseyeview's Blog

Nothing profound and a few of my photos

Charlie's Bird

living the dream with Charlie and Thandi and chirping all the way back to the nest.

Storyshucker

A blog full of humorous and poignant observations.

Tellin' it like it is...

Giving you my own two "sense" (or five...), one blog post at a time.

Angela's Accurate Administrative Services' Blog

Virtual Assistant Know-Hows, randomness, and much, much MORE! Please feel free to share your email address to receive future blog postings and special discounts on my services. As well, please leave a public comment at the bottom of the blog. I look forward to your response!

Exploratorius

Photo Hack & Curious Wanderer

Putting in a good word.....

about words, writing, books and the odd film.

New Bloggy Cat

The joy of happy, healthy, simple living

Is it just me?

Important trivia...

Becky Due...

Writes Novels About Struggling Women Who Find the Courage to Change Their Lives... EMPOWERMENT

Life is ON

Mapping aging & living, one word at a time

mountainninja999

21st century Policing from a Ninja's point of view

Explore Newness

My quest to do or learn something NEW as often as I can!

Medium Large

"I gotta say, it's brilliant stuff."--Dan Piraro, Bizarro

Oscar Hokeah

Celebrating Tribal Diversity Through Literary Fiction!

Storytime with John

pull up and listen...I've got a funny one for ya...

Peak Perspective

Trying to climb out of the fog.

rachelmankowitz

The Cricket Pages

Captured With My Phone

An iphoneography blog written, shot and composed from my iphone

Hart Helps

explore ways to win the wars waged within the mind

The Learner's Prerogative

a Vincy Abraham blog

The Golden Limoncello

If life gives you lemons...then make some limoncello

She's a Maineiac

...just another plaid-wearin' java-sippin' girl...

The Person Next to You

... we're not alone in the journey of life!

yes even this too will pass

Peace Be Unto Us All...

NeuroBollocks

Debunking pseudo-neuroscience so you don't have to

Blogdramedy

|: attention must be paid :|

Properly Ridiculous

My Mostly Pleasant... Possibly Offensive Perceptions

Dystopia Photography

Combining drama with beauty

Christine R

Trying to keep the brain cells alive.

nihilisticle

I guess I'll go ahead and count the ways.

home is what you make it

a blog inspired by real life

Not A Punk Rocker

Embracing my dorkiness, embarrassing my kid & blogging for the hell of it.

wretchedshekels

finding new homes for old goodies

A Word in Your Ear

Stories and Photographs of my travels, Tales of friends, family, animals and my life

The Reluctant Retiree

Stories from Garrulous Gwendoline - a baby boomer surviving retirement

Confessions of a writer

the art of being a wordsmith and more

The Science Dog

By Linda P. Case

dogtorbill

“This saying is hard; who can accept it?”

www.immodiumabuser.com

AS I TOLD THE GIRL THAT I LOST MY VIRGINITY TO, THANKS FOR LAUGHING AT ME HERE TODAY.

Because You're Loved

A simple initiative to share a transforming love

Infinitefreetime.com

The blog of Luther M. Siler: Author, Educator, & Irascible Bastard

Move the Chair

Photos. Words. Discovery.

maggiesblog0019

A Shelter Dog Finds Her New Home

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 227 other followers