Tuesday, 28 September 2010

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.

Sunday, 26 September 2010

Moving In Day!


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