To The Wallpaper Museum. And London?

Off dahn south tomorrow, to the land of oast houses, and a certain house styled as a non-ironic 1950's throwback. Yes, an afternoon and an evening with my dad, which will be lovely, and I will put my fingers in my ears when he tells me yet again that I've filled his kettle The Wrong Way. He has a big birthday soon, and I'm hoping I've managed to find him three things which don't elicite the directness that was the response I've had from him once or twice of "what did you get me that for?".

After that we're kicking our heels round London for a bit. This time around its a bit tricky thinking where to take 2 boys who are getting increasingly less possible to impress. They've never let me forget the time I wouldn't let them in the Apple store. We found out the next day that one of my friends had been in there at exactly that time, and she had stumbled on a Mighty Boosh promo event... I'm thinking a sweep around the low-culture bits of the V&A. Though obviously we have absolutely no expectations of spotting Noel Fielding...

Kent, London, The Festival of Britain Anniversary... and an Obnoxious Man

At last I've got some blossom on the blog! This is round the corner from my Dad's house. We stopped and ooo'd and aaah'd at the wondrous, pom-pom-like quality of this luscious stuff. Then we went cross-country a bit to see the lambs...

... like this cheeky pair. And these. The rest of 'em were busy not being keen on being snapped.

And look! On the way back we saw Hayley Cropper's car*!!!

Today we headed back via London. Lots of time to see lots of places. We started with the South Bank for a mooch and an ice cream. They are getting ready for the imminent 60th anniversary of the Festival of Britain, so lots of painting and general doings were going on, with the smell of sawdust mixed with the smell of deep-fried doughnuts.

There's a seaside theme; lots of words on yellow banners all along the railings, which we forgot to snap, and these: 

It made us feel like taking a cool dip, so we did the next best thing and jumped on a riverboat for an hour, down to Tower Bridge and back up to the Houses of Parliament. Best fact from the tour guide? That the founder of Harvard was a butcher's son from Southwark.

We then thought about going to Camden, with a nice cooling whizz around the circle line. Got off instead at Baker Street and went to Regents Park. This took us past a big line of people going to the Sherlock Holmes museum and tacky shops selling £20 t-shirts.

The heat and the 12 year old having blisters made us think There Was No Place Like Home, so mid-afternoon off to the station we went and headed norf.  Having to change trains one stop from home, everything was a bit all over the place with a power failure. We got on the train that eventually came and headed up the corridor towards first class as the train was packed.

A small man with 2 hefty briefcases got on too and decided we were all in the way of him getting to his first class seat. Before anyone had a chance to try to move he put his head down and charged through the lot of us with his elbows. One girl got her boobs totally flattened and a few choice comments were hurled in the bloke's direction. By me. Because Brits Don't Make A Fuss and no one else did a thing.

Me and the boys went and sat behind Rude First Class Man's seat and as we got ready to get off I told the boys to take their rucksacks off so we could "get past the people more politely than some people on this train". At this he stood up too (up to my shoulder, as he was vertically challenged, and not unlike Paul Daniels. Only with the aggressive traits of small man syndrome) and decided to apologise. I told him not to bother and that he had been obnoxious and had a lot of people to apologise to. Again no back-up, but I made sure he apologised to the traumatised boob-flattened woman once we were on the platform.

*Coronation Street

Busy Week

At last some lovely holiday time! Its practically Summer Holidays Part 1, with this gorgeous weather (plus once term starts again its only 48 early school-mornings til the Real Summer Holidays start)

Of course the beautiful hot sunshine has seen me become a laundry bore - averaging 2 loads out on the line each day, with the 2nd lot usually left out overnight to get Proper Baked all morning until the next lot is ready to go out. Yawn.... fascinating, eh.


But don't worry, I'm not fixated enough to do any of this:




The Unnerving Experience of Friday is slowly receding. Nastiness personified in the form of NHS well-meaning... I've been busying myself all weekend - de-junking the loft and have even made myself sort All The Photos That Have Ever Been Loaded Onto The Computer into folders. How organised is that!

We're going to Kent and London later this week; this is something the teenage recluse is ok with doing so I'm leaving the London itinerary up to the kids. Although I'll try to fit in a detour to where they lived as babies, the buzzing gorgeousness of Columbia Road. 2 cameras should ensure some photos get onto the blog. Albeit one with a temperamental battery, and a lost charger for the other one, so I should manage a fuzzy shot of some sheep and an oast-house or two, and someone's feet.

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.