It’s a huge relief, I must say, to have let myself off the hook and returned to little trivial blog posts like this – but with a structure. You should try it. I could include that as a learning, couldn’t I? Make some rules for yourself, then keep them. But, actually, that’s not really healthy, is it? It’s the recipe for just about every type of negative self-talk.
Self 1: We’ll make rules. We like rules. We’re a rule-keeping kind of person.
Self 2: OK. What’ll they be?
Self 1: No booze before noon. No PJs in the supermarket. No lazing about.
Self 2: OK. Easy peasy. What else?
Self 1: No losing. No short-cuts (or only ones smart enough to call hacks). No signs of ageing. No mistakes. Ever.
Self 2: You’re on. We like a challenge…
Meanwhile, here’s what I learned lately:
That poem is by Jenny Joseph not by Wendy Cope. The one about purple. On my way for a flying visit to my chum D on an ouch o’clock flight, I didn’t stop to look at what I was wearing (quite literally dressed in the dark) until I was through security. Yeah, mauve-r done! But still, I squandered an entertaining while discovering poems by both.
Wine is caused by sexual confusion (partly). While yomping around a salt lake near Torrevieja, we were informed by way of information board that sexual confusion is part of the process of growing environmentally friendly grapes. Pheromones are left near the vines so that the male grape moth (enemy of plonk) is befuddled and unable to fertilise the female. I know, so many questions!
Occasionally peak grown-up is possible. This week, I marked the occasion of running out of shampoo and condition at the same time – in the same shower no less. Maybe it’s just me, but the satisfaction of buying a matching S&C set never lasts as one is always empty far before the other. No idea why – especially as I long ago sussed that the ‘and repeat’ step was only there to make you buy more shampoo. That’s why, when it happens, I do a tiny little (and quite careful, cos I’m in the shower) dance of victory.
PS I’m aware there’s a conflict between celebrating being a grown up and finding poems about growing old. There may be more on this when I work out what to say about it.