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".