I’ve been busy this week and I’ve not been at home much for the last couple of days; I’m dismayed to see on Bloglines that I have 186 marked posts unread. I think a few people must have republished or something as three of them each have 25 posts, so I hope it’s inaccurate, as there are also quite a few people bookmarked but not bloglined whom I want to catch up on.
Yesterday, I spent an interesting day being lectured about the Anglo Saxons. I will confess that it was becoming a bit deep by the end and I didn’t take it all in, but really enjoyed it all nevertheless. The lecturer was a rather lovely Italian woman and I am afraid that, once or twice, my mind strayed enough to wonder how old she was ….. I’m so rude. She had grey hair and a completely unlined, although mature, face – I mean mature in the sense that the dewiness of youngness with its subcutaneous fat (grotty expression, if you come up with a better one I’ll replace it) had gone, but all that did was to show to advantage her lovely bone structure.
I gave her a lift back to the station afterwards and she was lovely. Later, a friend was at dinner who had also been at the study day and she said that she and others had discussed the same subject – what did I think? I said that she must be older than she looks as her children are in their mid-20s. And she had been kind enough to be surprised that I was a grandmother. Ah, women can be so nice to each other. Pushing 50 but looks younger was the consensus (46-52, if you want precision).
Afterwards, I shopped purposefully and effectively, most satisfyingly in that I bought a pair of boots, which I really need, black, high heels (haven’t measured them, but I have to stand upright or I’ll tip over). Also a pair of red shoes, two pairs of gloves, one brown suede, one purple leather, a black hat (for warmth more than fashion) and assorted underwear.
Ooh, do you mind if I rant for a minute about bras? Gentlemen, stop reading now, this is purely technical and girlie and will not interest you.
Why are so many bras padded? Not underneath, to give a lift and increase cleavage, but all over, so that they stay rigidly in place and don’t move when you do? And why are so many in deeply unattractive colour combinations? I had half an hour by the time I reached the stage of buying such necessities, so I dived into M&S which was handily nearby. Knickers, fine – though gosh, how do they justify such prices in a mere chain store? Or am I just hopelessly cheap in begrudging £11 for a pair? After that I stopped matching up and went for the 3 pairs for a tenner option (look, never suggest that I tell you nothing about me). Anyway, I looked at these bras with increasing desperation. I am blessed with a 34D. Which is fine. Just right. They are not the first thing that anyone notices about me, but I can achieve an effective cleavage if the circumstances warrant it. I do not need a padded bra. Nor do I need a minimiser bra, which sounds uncomfortable. I do not want enough ornamentation to show through my clothes, but I was not after something entirely plain – I was in frivolous mood, after all.
Well, I did find a couple in the end. But I was only enchanted with one of them – which was why I bought the matching knicks.
Today, helped Al in the shop as his staff are engaged elsewhere, and then a concert with Dilly’s mum in Norwich this evening. So supper was bacon and eggs at 10.45 tonight. Plus a couple of glasses of chardonnay – will I sleep tonight?
Hope so, back in the shop tomorrow morning.
‘Night. Have a good one.