The dressing up box

I went to a party last night. My sweet friend Karin had hit the big five-oh and was celebrating with a fancy dress party with the theme of 'F'. Staying true to my nature, and the fact that I probably had enough kit lying around the house, I decided on a 'fallen fairy'.

Yesterday afternoon I made an excursion up to the attic to retrieve some black wings and a raggy skirt. Just as I was fishing around I spotted a box that hasn't been opened for a long time. Inside there was a collection of clothes that I used to wear years ago, clothes that meant a lot and I couldn't be parted from.
At the bottom was a beloved dress that brought me to tears. It was an original fifties dress that was once my mum's and I think I last wore it when I was about nineteen or twenty. I tried it on.

Not only did it fit but I couldn't take it off again, so with the addition of matching vintage shoes, gloves, and a kelly bag, I backcombed my hair into a modest beehive and then shocked the Feckers into stunned silence!

"Women should dress like that all the time." Big Fecker said.

I should have argued for the rights of the emancipated woman but I tend to agree with him. When did being a bright, intelligent, strong woman mean that you have to wear ugly clothes? My only problem would be the hour it took to get my eyeliner right!

And yes, the party was great and I kept company with some fish fingers, flamenco dancers, a couple of dodgy 'fathers', other fifties, forties and flower powers and a friend who after a few drinks kept falling out of her 'femme fatale' dress. Twas an effing good night!

(So shocked by his mother's appearance, Little Fecker forgets where 'up' is on the camera)


(Big Fecker, if you don't take those ridiculous glasses off I am going to stab you with one of the twenty-eight kirby pins that are holding my hair up)

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Here....

...is a magick bean.

What are you going to do with it?


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The Womb Chair

So, I witnessed what Katy did, and I also know what she did next because I was there.I was on that island when the Robinson family got shipwrecked and I watched from up a tree as those children in the New Forest struggled to remain hidden.
I watched in wonder as the secret garden was revealed, shared tears with the little women, followed Heidi up a mountain with that grumpy son of a bitch and helped Charlotte the spider with her innovative web design.

All this and more I saw from my reading chair, curled in comfort, except when they let out the Baskerville hounds and then I was most definitely under it and I was probably behind it when Shere Khan was on the prowl. But safe. In my chair, but not in this world, sampling the thoughts, ideas and experiences of some great writers even before I was ten.
I exposed myself to magick, ghosts and rotten real life people. I learned about love, hate, integrity, cheating, killing pigs, survival and the trick of finding doors at the back of ancient wardrobes. From this protective womb chair I learned about heartbreak before I had tasted my own and enhanced the morals that my parents had gifted to me. Can there be anything more powerful to help a child over the threshold to adulthood?

I return to my womb chair almost daily. Many books still deliver a lasting education and a lingering need to escape the world, feeding an imagination that still believes that I was once Anne of Green Gables.

Just so.


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Her majesty the Queen of Marbles

"So what are they?" he asked, looking at me as if I had gone mad. What could I possibly be offering that would take his mind away from the Playstation or the latest violence infested DVD?

"A game from the ancient times, a game of stealth and cunning, order out of chaos and look, no electricity needed."

"Didn't you have a TV?" he asked after I had peeled him away from the modern world with a box of small spears.

I resisted the urge to smack him across the head (illegal and not very pleasant) and proceeded to show him my rusty skills with a box of Spillikins.
An hour later we were still playing and he was beating me. We moved on to marbles...

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and then to a game of Jacks where I found I still reigned supreme in the playground!

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For two hours I had painfully extracted an eight-year-old from the confines of modern entertainment - I was feeling a bit smug and pleased that I still had mastery over some the games from my childhood.
When did we stop playing all these wonderful games and where did we get the idea that the isolated modern games that kids play are good for them?

Tomorrow he wants to learn Chinese Chequers. I think I shall be staying up all night to practice.

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Sitting on the dock of the bay

Some very tall ships, some decaying metal and some arty farty shots of dock stuff.....


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Perfection?

I wish that I were perfect,

that my boobs stayed where they were,

and didn’t need the scaffolding,

to stop them falling to the floor.

I wish my legs were longer,

were tanned and not so hairy,

but giving up the waxing,

would make them more than scary.

I wish my stomach was flatter,

and didn’t behave like dough,

spilling over my trousers,

in an unattractive muffin flow.

I wish I had a bikini line,

that didn’t try to be,

a part of something other,

that started at my knee.

I know that I’m not perfect,

when I look at 'mirror me',

but my brain is still functioning (just),

and I know my soul is free, so

the only thing I should be interested in,

is the inside ‘perfect’ me

Shouldn’t I?

Art appreciation ( part one)

One in a short series looking at the stories behind some of our great works of art.

The Night of the Long Pea Shooter - by Rembrandt, 1642

Although often referred to as a 'night' scene, it is obvious (note the giveaway digital clock in the corner) that Rembrandt painted this just around tea time.
His painting of Captain Frans Banning Cocq (painters were not very imaginative with their names in those days) and his stylish sidekick, depicts not only the dawn of the innovative long range pea shooter but also captures a moment in time when the cummerbund could not decide where it was supposed to be.
This disparate scene shows the supporters and dissenters of the newly introduced 'Dutchy' pea shooter. Rembrandt shows us that the fashion conscious have embraced this new weaponry but has not forgotten to remind us of the 'stick-in-the-canals' to the left who are fiercely holding on to their pointy sticks.
An early version of camouflage is shown with the 'dutchy' roughly draped in a pair of curtains (the man in green has co-ordinated perfectly). We are also shown that ignorance was rife - note the man in red trying to wedge his peas down the barrel of his gun.
To the right, Rembrandt shows us the evolution of the mobile pea barrel and also the forerunner to an army uniform dress code, although only the use of identical moustaches can be detected.

History is alive and peashooting from the hip!

Not the lotus position

Right, if you don't mind just stopping what you are doing I'd like some help.

I have a new life, a new path, so I need a new hobby. I don't want to do anything creative (got that covered) and neither do I want to do anything dangerous as I'd like to live a bit longer and please don't suggest anything like yoga....

...as apparently it makes yer clothes fall off.

I am very keen to try something completely different that doesn't involve pain and suffering and I would like to meet new people (Small Fecker suggested getting a boyfriend but the Boyfriend Shop is closed until next year).

As I view you all as intelligent, worldly people I know you will place your more than qualified suggestions in my inner sanctum and by this time next week my life will be enriched beyond my dreams!

pee ess - John G, I am not taking up mud wrestling, okay?