So This Is Boxing Day, And What Have You Done?...

Yeah, I know, I should be padding around the kitchen, with 19 drunk relatives sprawled across sofas, and patting my mince-pie-induced spare tyre, but...Christmas this year has been, well, kind of odd:

• The boyfriend is at his own place for the first christmas in several years, as he has his kids up here, so their first christmas with dad. Our kids do not get on, so we are not "conjoining" our christmasses
• I/we are not at my mum's - also for the first time in several years - as she has A BOYFRIEND now, gasp - and this is their first christmas "as a couple"
• Very stupidly I do not drive, so am stuck here
• The 13 year old wanted to spend christmas at home, and declared in advance he would only eat pizza on christmas day
• Raging pmt manifested itself on the 24th - always a great time to be afflicted
• I had sort of forgotten to buy any booze - in view of the above, a bottle or three of red would have been timely

During the week I had felt compelled, by pmt energy it transpired, to race around the house, changing beds, doing unfeasible amounts of laundry, taking unwanted magazines down to the doctors surgery, hell, even painting plant pots... and of course left wrapping up the kids' things til Friday night.

The 13 year old had just had another episode of staying up on Runescape for 36 hours, and so woke up and came out of his room at 5 minutes past midnight Christmas Eve. Great. The last minute.com wrapping had to be done stealthily and quietly under the duvet, but was eventually done. 2 stockings stuffed with chocolate and sweets (what was I thinking of???) were sneaked into their rooms, and I went to sleep....

Christmas morning was largely all fine and dandy, apart from the 11 year saying he felt sick first thing and would therefore not be wanting any of his chocolate, the presents went down well, a mad game of charades erupted somehow, phonecalls were made and received between us and other family members, the 13 year old accidentally hit the sous-chef in the eye with a metal bottle opener out of a cracker...

Then me and the 11 year old cracked on with cooking lunch, to a loose deadline of 1.30. The bottle-opener injury did not deter him from mixing up the stuffing, grating sprouts in butter, but hands were stabbed in the making of the apple sauce... As this was the first time I'd cooked at home at Christmas, it became evident that the oven was not going to accommodate a full-on roast AND a pizza... things came out of the oven, grew cold, went back in again... made a mental note to get a microwave.

By late afternoon I was blankly watching The Gruffalo and wishing I'd bought a magazine to retreat into. Ronnie Corbett was on, yet again, which was kind of nice, because who didn't love Saturday nights and The Two Ronnies. Although I'd intended to watch Dr Who, I felt a break for solitude and a therapeutic bout of dipping saucepans in boiling hot water was what I most needed. I came back in for the last 15 minutes of Amy Pond saving the world and got to grips with the backwards and forwardsness of the ghosts of christmas past, present and future without much difficulty.

And then it was time for the Christmas Strictly! The BBC did not pull the show, as Vince Cable had not lost his job this week, and his elegance on the dancefloor points to it being perhaps a good idea that he ditch politics and change career. There were quite a bit of Baker Backflips. There was a lot of John Barrowman's American Teeth. And he won. Which can only be a bad thing for his over-inflated ego.
Although the overriding impression of the whole show was Gavin, in a beard and white jumpsuit, looking like a lost member of the Bee Gees.

Wednesday Snowday

We've been hit full in the face by the big frenzy of snow that everyone in the south had over the weekend. Its lovely! Really fluffy and dreamy. And the sky was becoming pink as we went out - gorgeous. Did I remember to take the camera? No...

Went out to see the frozen canal, had a snowball fight with the 11 year old, tried out the new caff up the road.... muffins, mocha, yum, and then went to do a bit of food shopping, with only 6 things on the list. Came out with 6 bags, which was significantly more than one item per bag. That's the second time I've done that since the humungous online food shop last week. Oh well, at least we're not bothering Dominos Pizza anymore.

Some energetic house-rearranging on the go at the moment - gotta do something to burn off those mince pies - so finally a redundant filing cabinet has gone up into the storage-starved bedroom, and is now housing t-shirts and handbags. The makeover of the big filing cupboard is one stage nearer... its a Utility piece I've had for absolutely yonks. Was loosely thinking of silver and white wrapping paper for the interior, as the dining room is heading in a very white, black and grey direction, but think I'll do the inside of the doors with blackboard paint. Before and after pics will be on here soon.

A cheap reconfiguration of the kitchen is also being planned, with minimal purchases (a corner wall unit, worktop, tap, plus the fees of Messrs Plumber & Gas Fitter Ltd) and reuse of what is already there (carcasses, sink, cooker, appliances, vintage sideboards)... not the ideal week to be doing it, so will hold back with the sledgehammer just for now. Although Keef is definitely going to still be on the wall above the cooker...

Mild Christmas Panic And Trout Pout

My wonderful plan to pick up presents as and when the "right" thing smacked me between the eyes is starting to fail....

All presents have now been bought, and stashed away, and miraculously, some have even been wrapped, plus excelling myself entirely last week.... some have even been posted too!

The flaw in the Plan To Buy Early is that I've lost one!!!! In the depths of my miniscule house, there lurks a 22cm by 22cm metal sign saying "Hand over the chocolate". Not easy to mislay, at that size, but mislaid, nay, even LOST, it is. My 13 year old just looked at me, and in perfect seeing-the-world-through-his-eyes style, asked if I had actually bought it. Must admit, I did then check the ebay account, just to make sure. So, my mum's partner has a measly tin of scottish biscuits and a 24 hour window for me to either turn the house upside down to find it, or come up with plan B....

Am nearly in a spiral of panic as it is.... we then have to navigate a central portion of England by rail tomorrow. I am not entirely optimistic that all will go smoothly... several extra layers, charged-up ipods and Sensible Sandwiches seem a Good Plan. As is watching 10 year old pantomimes on itv2, marvelling that Patsy Kensit, in her former Mrs Liam Gallagher incarnation, has now finally seen sense and has stopped having collagen lip injections... Can you tell that I minded a teensy bit that she married Jim Kerr?

Finding Things To Do On A Monday Morning

Its so still. Very post-nuclear. From here indoors, it seems very remote that people can possibly be busily doing what they must be busily doing. Am having a not-doing-anything-much morning as I'm meeting everyone from the World of Work for some nosh at lunchtime... until then I'm just noodling about, trying not to eat mince pies.

Have just watched a documentary on the Beatles - black and white, very apt for the landscape we have now. Got to say there's something just so much better about the late 60s than the early 60s - messier, pre-punk...

And during the ad breaks, I stuck the camera into some fested-up corners of Trashsparkle Mansions...

Leopardskin Handbags - Tick!

Ha, yes! The two little knitted handbags destined for the 6 year-old cousins are finished.

Oooh, the sense of achievement. Dulled only by the reality that they weren't ready in time to post yesterday, when I queued in a whiffy post office to send off some other pressies, and could have sent these off too, if I'd been less distracted by painting various bits of the house, and making mantelpieces. So now its the post office experience twice in one week....

 Anyhows, these are the bags...

  

  

 





Trashsparkle's Televisual Treats Take Two, Apples, And Other Sparkly Stuff

So, we are finally all defrosted and everywhere (aside from places I have yet to see on the news, such as Scotland) has Totally Thawed. What an adjustment getting used to all these dark colours after the sparkly white stuff. The leaves are looking knackered, as if some toxic poisoned blanket has been to visit these past weeks, and the contents of an orchard has been revealed on the trampoline. Leading to a minor Saturday morning outfit dilemma - put on yukky old clobber and get set to with a broom to clear the trampoline, or ignore all that and go with the new grey leopardskin-print frock sneakily purchased on the basis of it being Non-Leopardskin Colour And Therefore OK?

Yes, I am totally over Real-Colour Leopardskin - Too Everywhere. Even EastEnders were sending it up - spotted Pat Butcher, as ever faux fur coat-clad, sitting in front of a ginormous painting of a tabby cat. A bit like the BBC's version of the patterned carpet, patterned wallpaper combo...

Which we saw gallons of when Boy George went back to the 70's on Thursday night. Ace decor-recreation. A total brown'n'orange fest. His old family house, and then another one, giving us double-decor whammy. And I lost count of the hats, but loved that his first one matched the yellow front door.

We have also had Kirstie doing her lovely mate Phil a favour, and organising some Channel 4 work for him, in the form of K&P's Perfect Christmas. Alas, there was just not enough time in Trashsparkle's day for a mammoth 4-episode roll-out of this nature, and from what I caught of it they kidnapped a good, clean-cut mormon boy and made him fix them some devil-juice in the shape of get-the-rellies-pissed cocktails. Oh, and there was the very heartwarming bit where Phil was doing Something Interesting in the kitchen. Apples, cider, sugar..... Sadly, this was then presented as a sauce, which can only be described as looking like vomit. Hope Phil did better in the rest of the shows, otherwise Kirstie's going to remain solo on Channel 4 in future.

And who could not watch Corrie? I haven't seen it since the 80's - just not the same without Elsie Tanner, Hilda Ogden and Albert Tatlock, but it became sort of cult-viewing with the 11 year old's peers and turned into Cultural Highlight Of The Week. One of his teachers was even in the audience at the tacked-on-afterwards quiz. For me, it was the usual wooden acting, yes Ken Barlow I do mean you, and its best line was the just-rescued Rita murmuring "what is it with me and trams?"

And aside from working new frocks and/or chucking apples around the garden, I shall be watching how picky Mr Revel-Horwood gets over whose feet are deemed to have left the floor, and who out of Scotttttt, Matt and Gavin gets desperate enough for votes to forget to keep their top on. At least we know that Ann Widdecombe ain't gonna get that glitterball.

The Mantelpiece Is Finished!

...the one that featured a few posts ago as a lump of wood covered in 19 layers of paint.

I put it up last Friday - it was to be home to the silly big red reindeer, but as the baubly wreath looked better on the wall the reindeer is still in limbo.

You'll have to trust me when I say the star lights are "boiled sweet" scarlet. Despite what they say, my goddamn camera lies all the time instead of showing what is REALLY there!

Gilbert Ate My Grape

Yay - it is another Official Day Off. And I have not been summonsed to the World of Work to cover for snow-bound colleagues. So woohoo - lots of metime today. And how exactly will Trashsparkle be spending today? By ignoring the nagging logic that says she must knuckle down and fill in the SENA form that arrived yesterday for the 13 year old, and instead eat McCoys cheese'n'onion crisps and drink black tea whilst clicking around in blogland-catchup-time. (don't worry, the form will be done later - I am a nightowl and can only do such things at stupid o'clock).

Reluctantly caught the Morgana Show last night and had to google "Gilbert" to find out where she'd rolled out that character before. Knew it was something where the character had been made to do pervy stuff to female guests, possibly involving a semi-circular seating plan arrangement. But despite that wonderfully precise description, the boyfriend couldn't put a finger on it either, so I hit google. The TNT show! Totally forgettable, so no wonder it didn't leap out at us. But in the "Gilbert" trawl activity, I found the highly delightful http://christinalouisemartin.blogspot.com. Fancy doing spoof Amazon reviews! Genius. Maybe I'll stop ignoring the emails that request my participation when I've bought complex origami flatpacks, or heaven forbid, may start buying bizarre stuff for the very purpose of joining in with this spoof review malarkey. Is there a lot of it about? Is it a modern thing that thousands of bored people are doing? Will online shopping ever be the same?

Trashsparkle's Become Obsessed By The Weather

Yes, it is worrying how much time it is possible to spend thinking and talking about everywhere being frozen and slippy. So what's good and what's bad?

The pace is slowed down - how olde worlde to see cars travelling at a sedate 5mph
People have slowed down - you can't go anywhere fast
You have to walk like constipated penguin otherwise you fall over
The pavements are complete ice rinks
The roads - ditto - so not great

You wonder how much the NHS is having to spend treating broken bones and other injuries, compared to how much is being spent by councils on gritting (or being saved by councils not doing so). I am having to hold myself back from bothering the local mp about it...

On The Sunny Side Of The Quality Street

A glittering Sunday of sun on the snow, and diamante droplets on garden twigs.... the only downside of this lovely welcome sunshine is that Trashsparkle's house looks, erm, a tad on the filthy side. Never mind, as yet another tongue-in-cheek announcement hanging on my kitchen wall declares, "how can a woman be expected to do all the cooking and housework when she's been shopping all day"..... A bit of a time management review needed around here perhaps?

Indeed, tardy kitchen activity last night - lying on the sofa reading the papers til lastminute.com led to me missing a few chunks of Strictly; I didn't really mind missing Ann's rehearsal footage to retrieve the Tesco's Indian from the oven, and when I caught her performance it was as if a discarded Quality Street wrapper had attached itself to Anton.

Alas, through further kitchen mistiming issues, I managed to miss vital seconds at the start of Austin Baker's shenanigans.... so had to wait for iPlayer to see the magnificently fabulous backflip. Did he have elastic on those specs - still there when he landed... Why didn't they get 40???

Though I loved that Pammy got the 40 for her Viennese Birthday Waltz... In fact, I think Kara and Artem's tango should have got 40 too, especially if bonus points could have been given out for Fabulous Frocks.

Incidendentally, an accidental encounter with the cover of Heat/Closer/Look while purchasing chocolate yesterday afternoon leads me to believe that Charlotte is now keen for Gavin to come home. Could that be anything to do with his newly-acquired competence in the hip action department?

Snowly Come Dancing

Here I am, up late for the umpth night in a row, with my fingers crossed that the World of Work will be closed tomorrow. Seeing as it'll be Friday, its not really worth dragging us all in, and the students are very sensibly starting to decide to avoid the ice rink that is the outside world.... so, Snow Day? Please? The snow is lovely - if you get to walk on the bits other people haven't. The lovely, deep, crunchy stuff. If you have to stick to the pavements, and try to get somewhere for a certain time, then it ain't...

I love how the week passes so quickly when you have It Takes Two to break it up - Mondays are a respectful look back, at what went wrong enough to see the latest couple to get voted out. Craig pops along, off-duty from his Mr Po-Face look, and acts all giddy. Tuesdays and Wednesdays start getting into the dance steps, and Claudia manages everytime not to fall off her heels while Len tries to teach her to dance, and we start to see how everyone's doing in rehearsals. And then Thursdays! So near to Saturday night! We see the frocks. We get Hilary Alexander, glasses perched on the end of  her nose and being ever so jolly, and coming out with bizarre fashion phrases such as Pamela's "canyon of cleavage". Tonight we saw Kara and Artem skillfully negotiating some tango practice. And then we got Ann - in a bright red jumper, with a Scottie dog on the front. Heavens knows what their effort will be like, but I somehow doubt it will be either American or Smooth.

Loose Ends

 Spent yesterday feeling downright unrelaxed - most unlike a Sunday.

In the end, I went to the new Mr H. Potter performance. What a joy - the spooky music, the dark, cavernous interiors full of black gothic furniture, barley twist four-posters, higgledy-piggledy staircases... couldn't decide if I liked Sirius Black's, Luna Lovegood's or Bathilda Bagwotsit's gaff best - but as usual, some nasty, menacing swirl of cgi nonsense destroyed most of them anyway. Hermione has an excellent handbag - a marquee was produced several times from within. Severe doubts remain about Daniel's acting ability - oh, how the cinema erupted at his dad-dancing. Mr Radcliffe - surely Strictly must want him?

Inhaled a most unsuitable amount of paintstripper fumes to reveal the 1880's Victorian glory of my lump of wood that shall be the mantelpiece. A bit more jiggling with sandpaper, and you can almost picture the candles and tealights all a-glowing, festively, on top of it. Nearly finished but not quite.

A nasty draught comes from the gaps inbetween the newly sanded bathroom floorboards. Have decided its bugger to the jar of sawdust I'd been saving to mix with pva - am wedging strips of old toilet roll tubes in them gaps. Nearly Finished But Not Quite.

Strangely, people are starting to ask if I've done all my Christmas shopping yet. But there's still 25 days! So, that's another NFBNQ to deal with...

The World of Work is totally convinced we shall be CLOSED for the forseeable future as of tomorrow due to all this envisaged snow.... daren't hope how much that will help me to catch up with myself. Then some of this "nearly finished" nonsense can get QUITE, COMPLETELY and TOTALLY finished. Until I start another mad project...

Busy, Busy, Busy!

Have been a bit on the go this week - hoorah! And here is the proof...

The red wall in one of the recent posts - behind the chandelier in Trashsparkle's Homemade Home - has now become grey (dulux's urban obsession), so this little fella can sit up on the mantelpiece soon without being camouflaged. And hey, yes, he is sitting on the first piece of the mantelpiece I was contemplating last week. A sawn-down fence post....

..... and this is the other part of the mantelpiece, a piece of salvaged victorian door architrave from when the kitchen got knocked through. Still a long way to go, seeing as I woke up to find the paintstripper had failed to magically do its job overnight (thought that trick they do with cornices and shrouding in plastic

would work).

And inbetween these mucky little projects, I realised on Thursday how cold I was, even in my hat. So I started to make a big, weatherproof one that evening... Voila!

Trashsparkle's Triceps, Tea and Televisual Treats

Morning bloggers! Some tea, some free-range egg'n'fakey bacon sarnies, Nina Simone and Blondie, and all is well in Trashsparkleland this fine and dainty Sunday morning...

...apart from the still-disturbing image of the big canary wandering out from behing the curtains last night. Ann's big mistake was to refuse Anton's suggestion of doing Improper Moves, and thus diluting their samba down to another Queen-Mother-Wanders-Round-Chelsea. Not sure about their choreographical intentions, but I strongly suspect she'd had enough by the end and lay down on the floor, leaving Anton to improvise wildly by having to drag her around like a defeated floorcloth. Where have we seen that before?

Another dodgy samba was Scott and Natalie's. Not that bad, but, in Strictly-Speak, far too much "gapping" during that forward roll thang. Has Scott gone off Natalie's perfume or something? I felt myself almost shouting "forward" to make him move his feet nearer to her.

Which is something poor Sheryl Gascoigne had to do to urge The Big Wimpy Vegan that is Gillian McKeith through the blindfolded cave of horrors experience in last night's slice of "I'm a Celebrity..". Sheryl played a blinder when Gillian freaked again at another hanging cobweb... "Its only a Christmas decoration". Genius, Gascoigne.

Meanwhiles, in the land of my Disgracefully Unfinished House, I have temporarily put down the knitting and entered phase 2 of sanding the bathroom floorboards. Did a couple of hours Friday and got half the room done. Just the other half to go, then. Full of optimism that it SHALL be finished Fairly Soon, I shelled out some quids for a tin of yacht varnish. Very good for one's triceps, this floor-sanding malarkey...

And in the spirit of Winter Decorations, we are soon to become Proud Owners of a red reindeer. Not a Beryl Bainbridge-style taxidermy one, but a huge wooden advent calendar. T'is for the kids... It will go over the mantelpiece in the dining room. The mantelpiece that I have yet to source and install. There are high hopes that the planed piece of floor joist lurking in t'shed shall be fashioned into such.  Also, in the spirit of Planning Ahead In Effort To Avoid Haphazardry I have invested in some new red decorations. Some tin and wooden decs - but disappointingly, they turned out to be not scarlet as imagined, but sort of rustic-red-oxide. Think I will leave the Gisela Graham look alone in future...

We are also recovering from a visit from Trashsparkle's mother yesterday. Hence lurking lazily on here, writing, and admiring other people's creations and findings. Yesterday, mum did not get as enthused as me about the bathroom floor - she merely asked when I was getting the doors sorted, and tut-tutted as she passed the bombsite that the 11 year-old sleeps (and hides his clothes) in. As for the lovely knitting, well that just made her sneeze. Although she did atually love something - the pie'n'mash I made for lunch. A small victory...

Rainy Junk Hunting

We went on a long and rainy drive this morning - into another county in fact - in search of some tat to peruse. A total mystery journey of A roads, terrifying bends with big lorries coming the other way, until we finally discovered our destination; a big gothic industrial building ripe for a murder mystery. The scene of the indoor junk market. A pact was made - we had to buy SOMETHING because of the mad distance we'd travelled.

Inside, tables galore, laden with STUFF. And some cute dogs, which were not on sale. Promising... but actually most of it was craft bits. Little bits of decorated wood - A Home Is Just A House Without A Dog. That kind of thing. Not knocking the craft, but not exactly what we were hoping to find... Well, we tried. We went round the room, twice... fake security cameras, baby clothes, 3 fishing rods, dodgy dvds,  absolutely zilch.  But I found a few balls of glittery wool - for the Ongoing Leopardskin Handbag Project.

So, due to the lack of actual vintage bounty this morning I've spent the afternoon trying to wean myself off wanting to buy Something. That vague, dull yearning to acquire something - how shallow is that! I even considered going to B&Q. Shopaholics Anonymous, I am a paid-up member...

Other than Extremely Interesting Trips to bad junk markets, I have mostly been knitting. A lot. There is sooo much diy/fixing up to do in this house, but I am wimping out of all of it, and knitting instead. Its clean, its fast, and it gives results. Which polyfilla-ing and floorboard-sanding, as done by moi, plainly does not. So one handbag made, and leopardskin lining to be made, when I get a sewing vibe on, at some point before last posting day arrives. And halfway through a second one! Already! Amazing...

Strictly Snogs and Snoozing

ooh, yum - kids still asleep, one hour and 9 minutes of me-time so far this morning! am sooo evil, making them stay up til 11.30 watching The Million Pound Drop.... obviously, it was me who was nodding off towards the end, and bossing them upstairs the SECOND it finished. The lack of noise around the house so far, although lovely, has made me very lazy - lots of tea and chunky buttered toast, still in pjs, and not much likely to get done today.

The Strictly use of lesser-known tracks has resulted in me dragging out Murder Ballads to show the 11 year old Kylie's cool side. He was a little horrified by the album title, but I think the exposure to the tracks thereon was worth the risk. What is with everyone doing snogs on Bruno last night? Gavin is well and truly past being shy, that's for sure...

Trashsparkle's Homemade Home

Well, just to prove I don't spend my WHOLE life shopping, watching tv or snoozing, here are some photos of what happens when I make stuff...





Made a chandelier (ha ha) from Poundland jewellery and plastic shot glasses

 



And some knitting for the ice age. Lighting is totally pants, so will do better next time. In fact, I will get my tailor's dummy back from the boyfriend's office

And by the way, soooo surprised by Kirstie last night - fancy her not knowing that Boots used to frame paintings in the 60s. Has the girl never found a Tretchikoff-era piece at one of these antique markets she's always telling us to go to?



Shiny Things and Stuffy Head

Head exploding this morning - from the ongoing head-cold, and now from the 3 year-old amateur Linford Christie next door, who has enormous levels of zest and Needs To Be Taken To The Park to release them. Now please, neighbours. Thank you.

Knowing that I should be rummaging in my kitchen for some sensible head de-clogging remedies, I am doing nothing of the sort, and getting my Need To Sit Down And Veg And Look At Pretty Things Which Do Not Demand Any Concentration Span fix by checking out my favourite Australian blog, http://fauxfuchsiastyle.blogspot.com/. Brilliant girl for colour, glamour, painting things constantly, having a fab garden (and nails!) and for giving us lots of film reviews. FF, and Claudia too - now on Film 2010, I admire you both for fitting so many films into your lives and not falling asleep. Which is why I am not a film critic...

There will, later today, be some Going Out, but owing to still being a tad fragile this will be a necessity not a retail extravaganza - I need to post a present to my lovely dad, but think the post office will be quite ambitious enough a destination today. Will get trinket-perusal fix instead by looking at some more lovely, shiny websites later.

Oh Lordy, Leopardskin. Again

This rainy morning I am fondly remembering my old leopardskin coat, that once upon a time I used to swish round London in... All before accidentally coming to live in a town where to wear something as "show-offy" put one in the ranks of the Widow Twanky Who Sits Outside Poundland Being Sharon Stone, and the lively old bat who wears her leopardskin in vinyl, with jauntily matching cap, in such a way as to remind one of Mollie Sugden as Nerys Hughes' mum. So it came that reluctantly, the acrylic jungle-fur had to be rehomed... And now leopardskin is EVERYWHERE again. Gutting... though I am planning on a range of handbags crafted out of some leopardskin velvet... far more delectable than swishing around like Widow Twanky Of The Dubious Underwear.

Aside from that, I feel a magnetic draw toward the shiny scissors of the hairdressers - something not unlike the sleek choppy look Brix Smith wore when she flew to the Outer Hebrides in search of real, uber-expensive tweed on Gok yesterday. Actually, it may not even have been yesterday - it could have been on cable, in which case when it was is anybody's guess. Can you tell I have a cold? Time-travelling telly - absolutely excellent for the state of confusion induced by one's sinuses.

Sort of inevitable that Jimi and Flavia will be on Claudia tonight - will Jimi be able to speak? He was rendered speechless with the emotion of getting voted out (or rather, not voted for enough to keep him in) last night. Proper choked, he was. How can it be that, after Peter Shilton and Paul Daniels went, the ones who can actually move are getting chucked off?  Even Gavin seems to have finally mastered the art of linking up all those stilted man-at-C&A-poses into Actual Dancing, so he could be in dangerous vote-off territory. Meanwhile, Ann (channelling the Queen Mother this week) rehashes her trademark moves - a cross between an afternoon at the Chelsea Flower Show and slow-motion moshpit action.

Pasta Telegram and Other Dreadful Side Effects of Chocolate

Have been 'festing up the house a bit this week in honour of the non-stop combo of sparkliness and fizz that is Diwali and Fireworks. The sparkly corner I showed in the last post is, finally, now bedecked by a string of multi-coloured lights. Damned gorgeous, although I say so myself.

Have been snaffling up bits and pieces to hide away for presents for the Winter Festival aka Christmas. Not usually this sensible, but it seems wrong to give people things that you've bought in a tearing hurry, at the last minute, getting all hot and grumpy in a shopping mall, boiling over to the point of resentment. Have now decided that if I see something that is "right" I will buy it, there and then. Which gives me carte blanche to go into shops A LOT. Which can be dangerous, but so far I have found 5 Very Suitable Things, and today managed to be Very Sensible in TK Maxx - ok, what's a little Charlie'n'Lola calendar here and there? T'was only £3.99, and it's for the house, not me..... and it will make me happy every day throughout next year. Bargain. And I am secretly 47-going-on-4 years of age...

Last night I rediscovered how utterly weird your dreams get when you eat chocolate in the evening. There I was, in the post office, asking for a bowl of pasta, telling them off for putting brussels sprouts on it, and trying to send it to someone in order to sort out what I was doing at the weekend. Bloody Yorkie bars - I swear they've put something in them.

Am thinking that the post-Halloween versions of Strictly are going to be a bit, well, just not vampy enough. I really think Matt the macho farmer should adopt the guyliner fulltime, and not just for showbiz. He just looked a bit too well-scrubbed without it on Claudia the other night. Come on BBC makeup ladies - the nation needs YOU. But it does not need Alice Cooper to be hidden away, obscured by cavorting Professional Dancers. What is the point of that???

Sparkly Treasures

A little sparkly corner in my house

I love "pattern" from this era
And the shelf was free - a box dumped after a car boot...

My new chair!

All I Want For Christmas Is - part 2

...items 3 & 4 on the Christmas list (after Keef's book and the non-purchasable vintage rock'n'roll dolls) are these!


... a yummy, yummy typography book to drool over


and..............






...Molly Parkin's autobiography - because she's been there, done it all, and good god, she's still here!


And this week, the household hysteria has mainly ensued from Strictly's Frock Reveals - pleather ???? - and from us all staying up Quite Late And Being A Bit Cultured last night to watch BBC2's Review Show... all was going very well, until it ended with a cellist. Seems it is not enough to just use the fingers, the face has to work Very Hard Too:
http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/b00vmxz2/The_Review_Show_29_10_2010/
Watch this from 40:30, and do try not to fall off your chair.

Trashsparkle's Thursday Televisual Treats

Earlier tonight Trashsparkle was zonked - brain absolutely addled by the day's academic complexities, and so had to have a bit of a lie-down on the sofa. Flicked through LivingEtc, and found myself quite fancying a papier mache zebra for the lounge.

Revived by the tonic of an-approved-of-by-Gillian-McKeith raw carrot in time for the always-delightful It Takes Two. Finding it a bit hard to see exactly what botox Patsy Kensit has had, or it could just be the tv screen badly needs cleaning. Have a gut feeling it'll be Gavin doing the sad we're-leaving dancey bit at the end this weekend, though the poor lad seems to think he's still in with a chance now that he's worked out you need to do a bit of acting during the dancing. He 'fessed up the other evening to spending A LOT of time in front of the mirror - and I don't think Gavin knows about irony, the little lambkin that he is.

And then, joy of joy, it was a whole hour of Keef, with the god that is Andrew Graham-Dixon thrown in for extra eye candy. The Keef book has, naturally, been on the Christmas list for the past 2 weeks....

 ps Yesterday's indecisive day-off resulted in a chance find of a gorgeous G-Plan style 60s wooden armchair in a charity shop - I only went in for a cardigan!

Too Much Work Makes Trashsparkle A Dull Girl

Am a bit "blaaaaah" this morning - owing to finding out 5 minutes before being due to leave for work, that I have actually got the day off. Now this is not owing to me being a bit dizzy with my diary and getting muddled up (me???), it is actually the result of the latest silly bit of new mismanagement chez trashsparkle's workplace... so now I don't really know quite what to do with meself today. Had I been in "day-off mode" when I went to bed last night I'd be more ... I dunno, doing something day-off-ish, I suppose..... ooh, how frustrating, but I will try not to waste this "extra" time.

The 13 year-old doesn't want to go out anywhere with me today, home-schooling is certainly not happening (yet), and he is currently watching tv. Oh, the slackness of my parenting... but at least he is out of bed, and is freshly washed for once (the threat of pocket money cancellation got him in the shower yet again). We did have a session of him trying to dislocate my kneecap and get me in a headlock last night, and for a nano second I thought the kitchen was going to get trashed, but I played it cool and talked him down - my work life comes in useful sometimes. Now we wait for appointments with Useful People with some expertise in adolescent psychology to do the rest...

Meanwhile the kitchen-diner is getting a new desk (long white table-cum-boudouir dressing table) on Friday, and there is a new tin of white paint to make the walls undingy... so that sorts out Sunday's House Dissatisfaction episode.

Lame Is The Name Of The Game

...oh, t'is a sorry autumn when I feel Brucey puns abounding in my head. Shouldn't my head be full of other, more original, more creative, life-enhancing thoughts??

A sunny Sunday, and I am having the visual joy of watching many, many yellowy-greeny leaved trees wafting about - the view is through my back window, but I am not quite grammatically awake yet to make that any clearer in the space of a sensibly-sized sentence. I feel that I should be leaping about - in the spirit of this autumn joyful brightness - atop a hill somewhere, but my nearest hill, and certainly one where I could guarantee not to be seen by anyone I know, is about 4 miles away. I do not possess the va va voomph for an 8-mile round trip by foot, plus assorted leaping.

I feel the need for something big to happen today, to Get Something Done - like a Big Cupboard Sort-Out, or the equivalent of a 60-Minute Makeover of my kitchen-diner but without the whistles, the screeching, the hideous wallpaper-chosen-by-guest-designer, or the ogling neighbours. I think this Need To Do Something relates to tomorrow being back to getting up at the crack of dawn...ugh. :(

This week has been a lovely, slow, lazy half-term week. The 11 year old and I have been on train journeys to larger, more exciting towns than the one we live in. We discovered a fabulous, derelict grade II listed building and explored a very spiritual 14th century museum on one day, and got hopelessly lost and accused of shoplifting in a charity shop in the 2nd town. Suffice to say please tell your children not to try playing hide'n'seek while mum's perusing the cheeseboards and dodgy nick nacks...

Meanwhile, Strictly seems to have become The Cartwheel Show - will we see Gavin cart-wheelin' next week (that is, if his not-very-good tango was enough to keep him in)? And the I'm Ann Fly Me bit? What was that for? Oh, for fun... I'll try to remember that, instead of thinking of it as some doomed civil engineering manouevre...

Argos And The Aubergine

Pizza has been avoided since Thursday's burglar alarm capers - I have been been doing Proper Food! Yesterday I even discovered what a warm salad was (soggy roast veg basically. 'Course, I knew that). Served up a blinder of chunky mushroom slices and other assorted veggies roasted in butter . Ok, it was only Anchor, but it's still early days... Although I got carried away and chucked everything that was lurking in the bottom of the fridge onto the table. Result - the "healthy" table Gillian McKeith presents to the junkfood guzzlers after she's scared them to death with the Table Of Lard-Laden Products Formerly Known As Their Staple Diet.

Very enchanted by Strictly - how on earth did Felicity manage to be "sooo bendy", and felt gutted for Gavin when Craig told him the floorboards in his flat had more movement. I'd get the dry rot people in pronto, if I were you Craig... Just can't get the Jungle Book song outta my head though...

Later on Saturday night there was a 3am full-on domestic in my street - a blonde in impossible heels and a micro skirt was extremely Tired And Emotional... and giving it large with a repertoire that would have made a navvy blush. An entire brace of 3, yes threeeeeee, police cars rocked up to tactfully suggest the young lady might like to return to her own house...

My loadsa-money-spree (in Peacocks, all best acrylic, dahling) has been very uplifting - have been rocking the new knitted dresses with a variety of skinny jeans, leggings, boots... depending whether its a trip to Argos or the Baker's Oven.

Have decided to start looking out for old mirrors - the fancy silver hand mirrors that once upon a time would have been on every art deco dressing table in the land. Think they will look fab hanging up along the stairs. Good job I hardly ever lug the hoover up there - less chance of knocking them all off the wall...

Tomorrow I am playing badminton. Now that will be an interesting wardrobe experience. The nearest thing I own that they might allow onto a court is some black sparkly pumps, but I don't want the rest of my ensemble to be toooo conspicuous - don't want to draw attention to the fact that I am Highly Nervous Of All Things That Fly Anywhere Near Head Height.

Have rediscovered how utterly faberoonie Duran Duran were - there has indeed been Some Dancing Around The Kitchen....

I'm Starting My Christmas List!

All I Want For Christmas (so far) Is:

1. Keef's autobiography, of course
2. This!!!! http://www.dollreference.com/showbiz-babies.html
Oh, I can sooo feel a collection-addiction coming on! You can get Mama Cass, Bobbie Gentry, The Monkees...
(numbers 3 to 99+ on The List will, of course, appear over the next few weeks...)

Anyone Want A Man In A Cheap Suit?

Alright, I admit - time to come clean. There probably won't actually be much in the way of the promised Claudia-Coiffure-Calamity-Critiquing... because:
a) the look this series of ITT is much more sensible-of-fringe, less brunette wanting to look like an olde english sheepdog as per last series (whenever the camera panned back, post-enthusiastic-arm-wave-to-departing-guests, our Claudia would be looking a little dragged-through-a-hedge-backwards in the hair department).
b) Important Meetings seem to have been held at the BBC involving deportment advice and sending someone over the road to Boots for some Totally-Claudia-Proof-Hair-Product. There may, too, have been some concerned fanmail begging Claudia to keep her hair out of her eyes, lest she develop a nasty stye...

Anyhows, onto tonight's little half hour of joy... our New National Treasure and her partner Mr-Stage-Name (Because My Old One Was Too Common). This duo's strategy was revealed as being to adlib everything, call it art and give Ann all the credit for it, while Anton is forced to shut up and put up. And she got away with calling his suit cheap. Bless...

This hilarity led to a revelation from the 11 year old - that when I laugh, I don't actually laugh, I just shake. Enough to make him nearly fall off the sofa. Fancy that, I'd never realised...

Earlier today, in lieu of running around a large building in search of young people to impart my wisdom to, I had An Official Day Off. Gleefully pre-planned as Me Time. That is, the kind of Me Time that involves going into Grown Up Shops That Sell Nice Things, and not the other kinds of Me Time which entail running round Tescos or lying on the sofa.

I encountered the usual charming town scenery en route, namely a small boy leaping about unsupervised outside the tattoo parlour (can't think why ADHD sprang to mind there), a bunch of junkies outside Argos, and best of all, The Local Widow Twanky Who Sits Outside Poundland Being Sharon Stone.

And later, on exiting Local Reasonably Priced Chainstore, having to stand aside to avoid being knocked over by 2 pram-pushing young girls of, lets just say, ample build making a beeline for a rail of baggy t-shirts was rewarded by the irony of hearing one of them shrilling " I love over-sized things".

Malfunction Of The Burglar Alarm Variety

And so today.. wrapped up the present for the 9 year old sprog-of-cousin, ready for a post-office-lunchtime-dash, did a morning of brain-battering maths class, legged it across the park, paid stupid ££ for the surcharge to get it there for the birthday tomorrow (soooo disorganised and lastminute.com, tut)... found time to grab a coffee once back at the office, then had to make it up to the 5th floor in ONE minute. I know - I timed myself!!!! And took about 7 minutes for my heart to stop racing. That can't be good, surely.

Ambled home via the pretty route, casually window-shopping for knitted dresses. (As opposed to the usual route - a car-park-cut-through, a traffic-lights-dicing split second dash, and then an uphill 6-abreast-teenager dodge, as that way usually coincides nicely with chucking out time at the nearby human zoo). Picked up milk, bread, and 3 kinds of biccies at the corner shop, and had a chat with corner-shop-son about lack of paying jobs for graduates, economics, outsourcing.... and put key in the door, ready for a cup of tea and a catch-up with the kids.

"The emo's bedroom light's not working. And this one doesn't either..."
Uh oh. But this girl knows what to do. No, not phone a man.....

Torch? Under my bed, 2 floors up. Fetched.
Access to meter cupboard? Blocked by large plastic crate containing wii and paraphernalia (so-far-won't-work & "donated" to kids by ex - in lieu of having to visit them???)
Peer at fuse board consumer unit thing - state of the art, put in last year, so most reliable item in the house at the moment.
See that some switches are in the "off" position. Realise too late that the electrician has labelled one as "?" and has left another 4 not labelled.
Flick up "lights" one - yay! One hitch - burglar alarm starts wailing.... Loudly. And continuously.

Punch in 4 digit code. Still wailing. 4 digit code plus #. Still wailing. 4 digit code plus *. Still wailing.... Get screw driver, open burglar alarm fuse cupboard, to suss out how to disconnect the alarm from the electric supply. Only to find it is actually The Cupboard of Doom - wiring from hell, and no sign of anything I can pull out that might not actually be live.

By now I am becoming Headless Chicken-esque. Up to this point, my calm-in-a-crisis rating has been exceedingly good, don't you agree?

Notice the chap over the road washing his car seems to be oblivious to the fact our house may have been being ransacked, or have developed Severe Electrical Malfunction. Just as well I Knew What To Do... Wonder about knocking next door to ask the Very Capable Young Couple to help... but feel that to be a step too far. Ring the boyfriend instead. No answer at work. Nor on mobile.

Rummage in cupboard for file of useful numbers of Professional Bloke Types... last year's meter-installing electrician. Will have to get him out on Very Expensive Crisis Rate... but actually he's lovely, and talks to me about batteries going into meltdown and tripping and stuff, and advises me to rip out the battery in the alarm cupboard, and if that doesn't work, he'll come over and let me pay him to help me smash the box on the front of the house to get the battery out of that. Not too sure whether that's technical competency or taking the piss...

Is it going to burn down? the 11 year old asked.
The house? No, it'll be fine. (Trust me, I'm a vintage-collecting scruff of a superwoman single mum who knows a good wall colour and a Patricia Urquoila chair when she sees it, but electrics??? *scratches head and feels a bit helpless*)

Anyhow, the boyfriend then phones back, and comes round to have a look. Between us, we have the alarm turned off, back on again but making strangled parrot noises, off again, heave sigh of relief and remove the fuse from the alarm cupboard... only for the bloody thing to start wailing again. Fuse duly gets put back in. Put the "lights" switch back on again.... and the wall of noise stops. And stays stopped.

At this point dinner really is going to be uber-late. Go to fridge - broccoli, cabbage, dodgy things in bowls from, ooh, last week... open freezer. Stalactites hanging from outside of drawers... someone didn't close it properly last time... and feel that delving into freezer will create an even worse mess. Have inspired idea that dialling-for-dinner will buy me enough time'n'energy for sorting mess out later.

This one should really be called "Tonight's Excuse For Missing Most Of It Takes Two... Part (II)", but obviously something alluding to my burglar alarm crisis might possibly make it look like my life is a bit racier than it actually is. So, tonight's reason for missing the beginning of Claudia is because I was still cooking the dinner, but in a virtual way, by ticking boxes on the Domino's buy-one-get-one-half-price site. Though I did see enough of ITT to clock that Claudia was wearing a top that I'm sure my mother had as a lampshade circa 1978. But I'll say no more, as she was rocking some fab leopardskin stilettoes the other night.

ps Could just possibly get a Strictly USA habit too - just found out Alice Cooper's going to be on it!!!!!!

...Tonight's Excuse For Missing Most Of It Takes Two Because I'm Still Cooking Dinner Is...

... because I couldn't stop flicking thru World of Interiors. Beryl Bainbridge's house!!!! All restored, post-modernistly apparently, to funereal gothic gloom and catholic kitsch since her ex ripped it back to modernism in the 1960's

And the Chilean miners! About to get number 18 out. Mr Lovely President - now then, did  he really not know about the dangerous mining conditions his people worked under, about the exploitative managements of those mines??? Um, what a lovely pr exercise this is for him...

Chicago Town Cheating Tuesday...

...so tonight we did not resort to dinner-by-delivery; but it was still pizza. not at all marvellous, but quick and hassle-free. coming soon - a chart depicting my consumption of good pizzas and those which are, erm, not at all marvellous...

What's making my life shit at the moment:
1. Back ache
2. Work being too busy
3. Zilch in way of domestic excitement
4. Zilch in way of non-domestic excitement
5. Having a kid who refuses to go to school - yes, that would be the emo
6. Having to deal with the authorities re KWRTGTS
7. Getting zero moral support
8. Having a dark, unfinished, house
9. Dark, unfinished house technically still half-belonging to ex
10. Having crap trousers instead of lovely sleek ones

What makes life a teensier bit better:
1. Buying (my own!!!) flowers on the way home
2. Having healthy(ish) kids
2. Having a roof over our heads
3. Not living somewhere where there are floods, mudslides or red toxic sludge
4. joebrowns.co.uk catalogue in new magazine - need a clothes splurge
5. The imminent rescue of the Chilean miners
6. Other peoples' blogs!

Slothy and Frothy

We are having a lethargic weekend. I blame it on the restless-but-can't-be-arsed-to-do-anything mood I was in Friday night. Which led to me starting a bit of knitting. I now have a bluey/lilac/grey/black/with a lovely fluffy trim snood in progress. And that has made me GRUMPY. Just seeing how many more rows I have to knit until it gets finished, and knowing that I am doing sod all else... maybe I should knit small things, like dolls' clothes? Better warn the family they might get knitted slippers and handbags this Christmas...

The 11 year-old has already pronounced, and in the same sentence, that he has "too much energy to burn and is so tired". How does that work? If I'm energetic I go and do something. If I'm tired, I lie down and disappear under the sofa cushions for a while, pretending to read. I will obviously watch closely to see how this contradiction in his energy levels manifests itself over the morning. The emo is on his laptop, whilst watching wrestling (not "real" wrestling - this stuff's all oiled, waxed he-men, and the violence is stuntman stuff - I am alarmed at this latest interest of his).

But with a day of only several pairs of kids' boxers to wash, and some school shoes to be bought, I am not inspired. Not tempted to garden - nothing needs any serious hacking down, apart from the withering sweet peas. But I am of the leave-it-withered-and-it-will-look-lovely-glistening-with-frost school of gardening - the dead stuff stays, a la sculpture garden, until new stuff growing in the spring needs room to come through. The compost bin that will one day be emptied and spread is not going to be emptied and spread just yet. Phew. Not looking forward to find mice skeletons - learned the hard way not to chuck all the rotting windfalls in there the winter before last.

Not in a cooking mood either - though did a fab risotto last night, all zesty veg and brown rice. The zestiness hasn't made much impression today. More in the mood for chocolate cake and ploughing through the papers... whereas last Sunday I zoomed about, putting up pictures, painting the kitchen, putting up a shelf for the computer... what a difference a week makes.

Get Thee To A Duvet

A very zonked Thursday, despite the glowingly gorgeous weather  - not helping, and in fact sabotaging, my energy levels by hitting the Fox's Crunch Creams after dinner. Alas nothing more sophisticated in the trashsparkle cupboards. I want to be snuggled up in my duvet, but its only 8.30something, and the small people need herding up to their lairs before me and the duvet renew our acquaintance. Oh, and the dishwasher fairy needs to be made to sort out them dishes...

In fact, talking about the small people, they are both lurking around in here, attacking more biscuits. A tribe of healthiness, that's us. If the emo finds my blog and hacks it, it'll become full of small, sweary words. Maybe I should move those biscuits?

Elle Decoration had arrived by the time I got home today - ooohh, lots of post-work sofa time. I took in the fact they'd described a mid-grey bathroom colour as "lush" before snooze-mode descended... a lot of snores (oh no I don't, oh yes you do) later the phone woke me up. "Leeeesa" wanted to tell me my computer was having some sort of relationship with "mah-leeesh-us" something or other. Should have asked her to define "mah-leeesh-us".

And Miss Claudia was wearing the 11 year old's jumper. Except he doesn't wear his down to the knees, or with heels.

And I really, really, will put some photos up soon so you can see my little collections of dust'n'trash...

Wellies and Winkleman

Lordy - this is the first time I've managed to find my own blog - I usually forget what the hosty bit's called and have to dive into other people's blogs and find myself amongst their followers. I like to do things the easy way - not!

Been out'n'about briefly today, on an Official Day Off, in this autumnal sunnyness - so lovely! Owing to having to spend a major portion of the ODO with a representative from the local education authority (Big Problems with the 13 year old emo - more later) it was not destined to be spent on finding sparkly trash, or on being a lady who lunches. Unless a pretty dire cheese'n'salad sarnie, brought to the table by a transgender slap-addled waitress, in the local cappucino hotspot with the emo counts?

Dinner was, again, prepared through the duration of Claudia - too much facebook does not a dinner-on-time make. So all in all, I was just about able to serve up things-in-pitta-bread and marvel at the way Matt's partner was wearing pink patterned wellies which sort of accessorised with the studio sofa.

Paint, Pizza and Mr Pringle-Head

Tonight at 6.30 we were clutching lovely warm pizza boxes in readiness for some more Claudia-ness. A food-delivery-necessity situation had occurred -  another Slutty Tuesday. Couldn't cook, even though I obviously, desperately, really did want to, as there was not an inch of space on the worktops.

Today's mini post-work siesta, this time right at the tail end of 60 Minute Makeover, left me with option a) snooze some more, or b) Get On With Something. So, resuming the kitchen painting I'd started on Sunday it was. This time I was winging it - still in work clothes. The fact the trousers I wore today are my favourite 5 years old ones, with my charity-shop biba-esque swirly print top, was treading dangerously. But they, and I, escaped unsplattered and unscathed.

Anyhow, there we were, non-functioning kitchen, oven hidden under newspaper, worktops covered in all the 60's coffeepots and jugs I'd moved from the tops of the cupboards. So, v-e-r-y, v-e-r-y dusty...

And then pizza. The Pringle-quiffed one was not on there tonight - obviously only available on Mondays. There were glimpses of eyebrows, and did you see those white shoes - the kind to wear to dance round your handbag? And... at last... a hint of hair-misbehaviour, when there was a strand-lipstick collision situation.

And now we really must go and google Felicity Kendal for some pre-botox'n'lift pics. Or is that really how good that liquid yoghurt is?

Didn't They All Do Well!

...Which takes us right back to shiny filmy frocks, caked-on make up and a conveyor belt on a Saturday night. but this time round, no conveyor belt.

A Friday-night kick-off to Strictly, then. Startled celebrities spun, stumbled, sashayed and otherwise smoothed us over. And then some more did it all over again the next night... which brings us to Monday, the post-work kip meaning dinner was only just getting underway when Claudia popped up. A bit of veg chopping and soy sauce pouring, then a bit of Claudia-viewing... and back and forth 'twixt kitchen and telly. A cheeky asymmetric Tin Tin look from Craig, and Claudia channelling Cathy McGowan but looking like there'd been a hurried dash to the studio from some flour mixing incident at home. And can someone please take Ann Widdecombe to Rigby and Peller?

Kitchen Sink Drama

To make amends to anyone whose stomach is churning after my description of the woefully-toxic kitchen, I am going to tell you about my bookcase.

It is the ubiquitous bookcase-named-after-a-goat, purchased solely to house the embarassingly large stash of house mags I accumulate . In these magazines are pictures of other people's kitchens, houses, lives... the ones where the living is effortlessly easy, and the stylist has primped the place for hours.

Somewhere between these magazines and my kitchen-from-hell stands my work in progress. An inherited 90's throwback, some of which I freecycled in favour of freestanding sideboards, with a pretty whitewashed brick wall (it was practical thermal insulation I stripped off, I learn later). And then it sort of morphed into a repository for all my vintage bits and pieces, and remains a more-than-one's-a-crowd nightmare where you have to be a contortionist to use the oven.

In the absence of a) cash, b) willpower and c) diy competence, I have ironically hung a fantastic 50's English Electric Company advert on the wall: "Whatever the size of your home, you've room for a refrigerator". As well as a black n white photo of Keef over the oven...

Maybe somewhere there's a mathematician with the inclination to come up with a formula to calculate how much time and money I've wasted on magazines x the amount I hate my kitchen. Until then, I think I just live in the wrong house...

Slutty Tuesday

Another week when it would seem I only have a kitchen because it came with the house. Or it exists as somewhere to put the dirty pots and pans from the, erm, nights before...

Enter me, into full-blown post-school toast massacre. We have acquired an extra 11 year old. The one who comes from the home that my 11 year old says smells of "clean". The surplus boy has no socks on. Trampolining - in the wet garden. Again. Normally I lend dry socks for the journey home, but feel disinclined in this instance as our sock drawer remains unreplenished.

Later, I am still ignoring the kitchen, and am practising activity deference so I don't have to work out what to cook. I am pretending to watch the Simpsons. Eventually Marge's voice annoys the hell out of me, so have to heave myself off the sofa.

Get online and check bank account - still in double figures. And its Tuesday. Domino's do two-for-one on Tuesdays. Slutty Tuesdays. For mums who (sometimes) only have kitchens because they came with the house.

Moving In Day!

Hola

My blog is now going to reside with you lovely blogspot peeps, after becoming overly-harangued elsewhere by young blades with music careers to promote...

This is what you've missed so far: http://www.myspace.com/trashsparkle/blog

I shall continue to gabble inanely, nocturnally, daytimely, indeed whenever, of adventures in patisserieland, cosmetics, artiness, cerebral soundtracks and bad hairdays (yes, that means YOU Claudia Winkleman!)

Trashsparkle xx