Fashion police

Looney, my views on abortion as promised to you have to wait.

I have more pressing things on my mind this minute – not least that the wearing of jimjams (that’s pyjamas to you and me) in bright daylight, public and on the streets of China is causing somewhat of a headache to the government. China appears anxious not to insult fashion sense of international visitors attending the forthcoming World Expo. One civilian who refuses to give up his perfectly stylish jimjams has challenged the Chinese government to comment on the rumour that Scottish men do not wear protective garments (or thongs as the case maybe) underneath their kilts.

I love this world: One minute we kill each other, the next I learn that sartorial rules given in the run up to the 2008 Beijing Olympics by the Chinese are about to be re-issued, and I  kid you not:

“Comb hair appropriately for your age” – Good job that Zandra Rhodes and I are unlikely to attend.

“Women should disguise THICK ankles with dark stockings” – Whilst I agree with the motion in principle I am a little lost as to how thick ankles undisguised might impact on proceedings.

“Men should steer clear of white socks with black shoes” – Does it really need the Chinese to tell us what’s been known forever, a fashion sin not to be commited unless you are 18, Fred Astaire, Noel Coward or Michael Jackson?

Now we are getting positively prescriptive: “Do not wear more than THREE colours in an outfit.” 

Let’s rope in a currently unemployed psychologist: “Too small clothes make people feel the wearer is unreliable”. 

Such a pity that I am not off to China any time soon otherwise I’d pack some multi coloured shrunk night gowns (they don’t have an edict on those yet), comb my hair in directions following the compass and take along a man wearing socks with sandals (used to be easy to come by in the UK). I don’t know what to do about ankles since mine are not thick (yes, I know, it’s one my pet hates too, how vanity will make you slip in little pieces of unnecessary information about yourself. What else are blogs for?).

I shall now go and consult Debrett.

Can’t get hold of my youngest sister right now otherwise I’d bid you Shanghain greetings.

U

The missing link

Magpie recently observed (in his comment on my “Disparity”) and I quote: “… I think we tend to laugh at that which embarrasses us. Like slipping on a banana skin, that is so embarrassing.”

His, to me, puzzling observation kept following me around like a stray dog and I have now found him [the dog] a new home: It’s probably a character defect that I don’t laugh at people’s apple peel or banana skins. Worse, I myself am NOT easily embarrassed. I have been in situations that would make normal people want to crawl underneath the next available stone or be swallowed up by that platitudinous hole in the ground. Yet, to me it’s nothing. No doubt a psychologist would have a field day. Or maybe I was a rhino in a previous life.

If and when I make an ass of myself which I do often, fine, so be it. I don’t mind. Which is not the same as saying that I don’t kick myself frequently for having done so.

There is only one occasion in my life when I fled a place in horror, embarrassed beyond belief.  Embarrassed not so much because of what had happened to ME but how people reacted to it. I don’t mind telling the full story but then I might embarrass some of YOU. And that wouldn’t be a laughing matter, would it?

Seriously, what embarrasses any of you – other than, say, nasal hair?

U

Fear of falling

 

I stole the above photo from an other’s blog. I believe those two guys are construction workers in New York (ca 1950) taking a lunch break.

That photo is a fine example of mind over soma (body). I feel sick. Ready to throw up. Giddy. Wish I had never seen it. Seriously. I look at it, my stomach starts to churn. I am not even bloody sitting up there myself. Vertigo. Good title – if Hitchcock were still around and cast me I’d be more convincing than Grace Kelly in “Birds”.

U

 

Redundant

CLOSE UP AND PERSONAL

Tell me about yours and I’ll tell you about mine:

Things you got rid off and wish you hadn’t.

and/or

Things you wish you had got rid off but didn’t.

U

Seven colours in a rainbow

77

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BIKE HIKE BABE

Forgetting the holy trinity , number SEVEN rules our lives. Lucky you: For the next twelve month you have got TWO of them. 

Then there is the most delicious day of your birth: 13/03/33 (yes, I know Americans do it in a different order – whatever, it still amounts to a lovely cascade of 3s).

Hope Tom managed to light all 77 candles on the cake before the first 33 had burnt down. Relying on his presence of mind he will have been efficient by remembering that 44 is the new 77 thus saving green gas emissions and your breath when blowing them out.

Birthday hugs and kisses, most affectionately yours,

Ursula

 

Disparity

Before you continue reading this, a word of warning: My boiler packed up days ago, I am freezing, there is no hot water to keep myself or the dishes clean. I am glad that someone invented hot water bottles. Yes, I am in a seriously bad mood. On top of which the internet keeps cutting out (so both you BHB and Magpie will have to wait for my finely chiselled answers to your comments on “I am a girl” till I find time to rewrite the damn things lost in the ether AGAIN). If only the cat had the courage to die too I’d be a much happier woman.

I don’t know where to start venting my spleen: I too came across Magpie’s statistic (this is with reference to his comment on Grannymar’s usual Thursday’s Finest). I shan’t go into detail why some children were brought up to think that the stork only delivers to the young, but at least I finally understand GM’s penchant for sexual preoccupation in her ‘jokes’. And this will sort her toy boys from the old girl – Viagra not withstanding. I have never dreaded old age – that mist in the distance – but might be  pushed over the edge by GM and her unveiled references. Will consult my mother on this before buying a ticket back in time.

Once more being appalled at GM’s sense of humoUr I have since been advised by an authority higher than my conceited and ill-informed self that the less you can partake in any joy of life the more you will dwell on it. Let’s put it another way: What you, GM, might pass off as self-deprecation in the best of English tradition is just putting yourself, and all other 60 +, down; leading -  according to the teachings of our Cheerful Monk and Ramana – to a self fulfilling prophecy.

At least I now know what a ‘cougar’ is.  And a ‘Silver Fox’ (this is why every woman needs at least one gay friend – you learn things which will NOT help you to survive when push comes to crash).

U

I am a girl, I am a girl, I am a girl

Bike Hike Babe, if I were a tiger cub I’d adopt you as my mother.

I can’t even remember that I suggested Magpie might be wearing high heels. I wear high heels all the time, other than when walking  along the beach; and I am not even a man. Neither do I have bunions.

Comfortingly, and restoring my belief in sanity and the good of mankind, Magpie himself appears to have taken well whatever my suggestion was: Evidence being that he still talks to me. For all we know he might be tottering along some railway station like the gorgeous Daphne (Jack Lemmon – I love the guy), and  Josephine (Tony Curtis) in “Some like it Hot”. It’s one of my favourite films and watched it for the umpteenth time last night; this time,  in wake of  your comment,  in honour of Magpie.

If that was when the whole palaver started then Con and his alter ego LRH (and GM) need to take their sexuality into their own hands and learn that “cross” dressing is as old as civilization itself: Marlene Dietrich wore tuxedos, grown men in India and Africa walk around in Kaftans, Scots wear skirts, and why should only little GIRLS try on their mothers heels? When my bestest friend learnt that he was going to be a father he went into shock and promptly dressed up as a woman (it was Carneval). That’s the artistic twist for you. His daughter proudly showed me photographic evidence 14 years later.

Lafayette R. Hubbard can piss off as far as I am concerned. What a condescending and patronising arsehole he has proven to be: According to him I am now “developing” my blog. I don’t want to develop my blog. I am just writing a few lines every so often. And I don’t need anyone’s disapproval to do so.

So very gratifyingly – and it did make my miserable day – leafing through my papers I found the following reference, and I quote:  “.. It can’t have helped that Korzybski’s fans included that high-priest of POPPYCOCK, L. Ron Hubbard.” LOL.

U

The little Mermaid

 

As a rule of thumb I recommend to try and make yourself sound dumber than you are.

It’ll lull  people into a false sense of SUPERIORITY; only to then find themselves ambushed  from behind when you yourself enter the more contemptuous of your diverse polar inclinations. If I’ve lost you now don’t worry: Hansel and Gretel too were pushed to find their way back. That teaches you to rely on breadcrumbs. Elementary, one would have thought. Still, in the end the witch got her roasting. And that’s why you should be careful in your choice of which fairy tale you want to star in.

U

Flip side

 

The above is plastered - in a prominent place – on a wall in my study. It was designed to keep up British morale on the eve of the second world war; and has the royal sign of approval – a crown – courtesy of King George VI. Apparently the well intentioned poster didn’t make much of a public appearance at the time;  the original rediscovered about ten years ago. And not a minute too soon – for my purposes.

Though, as the TV advert says: “Lose control and flap about” . That’s why I adore a real crisis. I keep calm and carry on. Give me an average day and I lose control and flop about. Those are the days I make lists. I love lists. They satisfy my hankering after that most futile order, my dormant penchant for perfectionism; they nurture my hope that I’ll still be around tomorrow. After all, you wouldn’t want to leave behind a list as yet to be ticked off, would you?

Considering my backlog I shall have to live till I am overripe. Like one of those apples you find on the ground in autumn, having fallen off the tree some time ago, pecked by birds and in advance state of fermentation making bees bumble about in drunken stupor.

U