To remain young while growing old is the highest blessing.

Today we took my MiL to an antique and collectibles fair in the Quaint Historic Market Town where we used to live.  I love antique fairs, but we haven’t been to one for yonks.  I love oo-ing and ahh-ing at all the gorgeous junk that these places thrust into my line of vision. 

There can be something quite magical about wandering around immersing yourself in the history of other folk.  Once upon a time a child played with that doll, and a woman powdered her nose whilst sitting on a train with that compact, and some elderly chap lovingly wound up that grandfather clock … and oooh, nana had that tea set and look how much they’re selling it for! 

There are two items that I particularly look for whilst poking around stalls, shying away from talkative stall-holders [who tend to be late middle-aged women with a passion for not letting you get away] and getting narked when the talkative stall-holders are talking to other folk and ignoring me.  Firstly I look for perfume/scent bottles that are reasonably priced, and secondly I’m always on the lookout for children’s books. 

Today there were no children’s books.  But!  There were four perfume/scent bottles that were not ridiculously priced. 

So I bought them.  And now my collection stands at around the fifty mark.  Not bad. 

Of course, having spent not very much money on four perfume/scent bottles it was only fair that we bought something that cost copious amounts of cash [well, £150, which is copious amounts if you’re not used to spending that much in one go], something that we had no intention of buying, and didn’t really need.  And ok, so it’s something that’s not in tippity-toppity condition, but that just adds character.   And it’s cute.  And yummy. 

And being a Victorian pine chest of drawers [with central mother of pearl decoration on the handles, just so you know] it will go beautifully with all our modern [mainly-] IKEA furniture.  Huzzah!  

I know I’m getting old because it excites me muchly.  Even the thought of getting my new carpet washer thingy excites me muchly.  If The Blokey hadn’t agreed to buy me one [because my carpets really do need a bloody good shampoo] when I kept whinging at him to do so, I think I may very well have asked for one for Christmas.  And that’s a sure sign that I’m getting old.


Now I feel the need to go and do something young and exciting in order to balance myself out a bit.  I think I might start by opening a bottle of wine …

please God bless the [probably dead] woman who previously owned that delightful 1920s scent bottle, made to look like a lipstick, which is very yummy and nice xxx Elsabeth


We haven’t been to the cinema for what seems like a lifetime.  I wanted to see Perfume [not only for Alan Rickman, nor just for the rampant sex[ual] scenes I’d heard about (I’ve never read the book, despite it being in the list of books that you must read before you die and regardless of the fact that I actually own a copy of it), but also because Ms. Hippy used to teach the lad who plays Jean-Baptiste Grenouille, right up to A’Level] but we missed it, or it didn’t play at the cinema in ChavTown.   

Bloody ChavTown.

The rest of this post has nothing to do with the cinema.  Apologies.

Instead I’m indulging in the Ten on Tuesday meme, because I can, even though it’s Wednesday.  It’s cunningly titled: 10 Things You’d Like To Change About Your Country.  Hmmm ….

1) As a nation we should hunt down Tony Blair and grind him into Nothing beneath the stiletto heel of some posh transvestite escort in London Town.  Then we should do the same with that other chap who thinks he’s going to be the next Prime Minister, which he won’t be, hopefully.  You can tell how much I keep up with politics, eh?  some chap, indeed. 

2) Once Blair has been ground into Nothing we can grow a backbone and tell Bush what we really think.  And we won’t hold back, oh no. 

3) If Every Child really Matters then it won’t hurt the government to put a little more money into the education system, which used to be the best in the world [*coughs*] and is now just a career break for adults who can’t spell but aren’t really sure what they want to do next, when they grow up, like.  Whatever. 

I’m getting a little political here.  That’s not really called for.

4) Wouldn’t it be funny to live in a country where two adults can be tried for, and convicted of, feeding their dog too much and not giving him [her?] enough exercise to the point where he [she?] is so obese that he [she?] could drop down dead, soon?  Maybe then the slogan could really be Every Dog Matters [Stuff the Children].

Ok, so less politics equates with more sarcasm, mmm?

5) For the next Football World Cup we ought to ensure we have a team that might score lots of goals and do a fine job of defending.  Or maybe we just need to make sure that we practice our penalty shots.

6) It should be made compulsory for the whole of England [and Scotland and Wales can join in too, if they so wish] to take a break at 4pm.  We could eat those elusive cucumber sandwiches and drink Earl Grey out of diminutive tea-cups that would look quite at home at a doll’s tea party. 

7) Life should mean life, not some namby-pamby oh ok maybe we’ll let you out now you’ve served eight years at Her Majesty’s Pleasure.  In the same vein maybe we could make sure that teenage delinquents actually serve the punishments that are given them – you want stories of kids who don’t give a damn?  I have plenty.

8) Everybody who lives in Australia and is proven to be of British descent should be made to come back to this country.  In return all those of us who are descended from law-abiding folk could move over there where the sun shines daily and the beer flows freely.  Whoever came up with the notion that it would be a good punishment to send convicts to the Land of Sunshine was very very silly.

And speaking of Australia …

9) Cricket?  Pffft, who cares.  Let’s ban it.

10) Other countries have National Holidays for the most ridiculous things.  If America can get away with Thanksgiving and Independence Day then there’s no reason why we English can’t get away with making St George’s Day into something special.  We’re just so damn nice we don’t want to upset anyone, which is silly because we’re just denying ourselves the simple pleasures.  Perhaps one day we’ll realise the irony of celebrating St Patrick’s Day whilst totally ignoring the day that could really unite us.

[You know, I get terribly confused about whether I live in Britain or England sometimes]

please God bless England [and the rest of Britain] xxx Elsabeth