I’m not long back from a holiday so polarised from the last one that I may as well have been in another universe. To celebrate a very special occasion a crowd of us jetted off to a location that opposes the Hebrides to such a degree I was forced to reflect on my penchant for variety and ability to adapt. In a sizzling hot climate so scorchio I barely left the pool, or it’s side, this holiday can best be described as a week long BBQ and pool party. Not riotous in a Michael Barrymore sense, although frequent references to this were made, but thankfully not paralleled. The location is famous for its night clubs, so there were a couple of nights out on the town where there was dancing and laughing as well as lovely restaurants. They had fairy lights and candles, both of which I can’t get enough of, and reminded me how much I love tapas which I’d forgotten.
Sadly the memories and the tan are fading as I razz between the day job alongside visiting elderly relatives, highly amusing as they really really are, and I took the opportunity to rest easy today.
I have just caught what I hope isn’t the last of the sunshine and topped up my holiday tan. As much as I love a good long sunny walk, sunbathing doesn’t bore me. It affords the opportunity to acquire a set of white tits which I find novel and amusing. Pale puppies are surely a USP in today’s age of fake tan.
My cat-who-thinks-he’s-a-dog has spent today following me from bed to garden to sofa where he currently leans against me with a purr so thunderous it borders on aggressive! Surprised the tenants in the flat below haven’t knocked on. Likewise the frogs in my garden pond were surprisingly noisy creatures who caused a racket today. I’m there picking my home grown blueberries while hoping to avoid as asbo with this lot for company.
The early evening shade brought instant goose bumps and sent me indoors armed with an assortment of hand picked summer fruits. I’ve since shoved the lot into an upside down bowl lined with dirty white bread to make a summer pudding. I intend to drown it in pouring cream before trying to remember to chew properly instead of inhaling it. While it chills i’m enjoying the arse end of Sunday’s channel 5 back to back Colombo marathon. The fact is, had it been raining today, I’d have happily sat in and tanned the lot. I have a crush on Peter Falke, it’s true. I find the squint on him really attractive. It is the perfect compliment to the unassuming bumbling nature of the character. My favourite Columbo scenes are the ones during which Falk gradually shuffles towards the suspect, really slowly, manoeuvring though hordes of scantily clad revellers at a rammed pool party or nightclub. I have absolutely no idea why I find that so incredibly sexy.
It beats watching the news which I currently have a love hate relationship with. The footage inside parliament is petrifying yet amusing. If I’d not been in work this week I’d have been at serious risk of getting sucked into watching it live. Watching this lot is akin to picking a scab. I know I shouldn’t yet I can’t help it. I’m repulsed and yet strangely drawn towards keeping up with what is surely the highest levels of shameless parliamentary buffoonery to occur, not in history, but certainly in my life time.
Ugh it’s that Sunday feeling now. And it’s dark early. I’m grieving the summer. Never mind this pudding will help. Ready or not it is about to be devoured. Oh, I’ve just realised this blog is now a year old. Looking back I’m far from prolific with it. But then I’m not a prolific hooker, either.