I knew the day was coming and I have been trying to prepare myself for it for some time.

The End of Tennant’s Days as Doctor.

Oh, that I should ever live to see it.

Foolish, vain hope that this time would never come to pass.

Love indeed IS blind.

I’ve been on a reading roll for the past five or so months. And by that I mean, everything I have been reading I have really got along well with. Most of my reads have been those that have been on my ‘Must Read’ list for several years. Ones that for one reason or another have been passed up in favour of others.



I could wax lyrical about all of them (with the exception of TWO. A.S. Byatt, Persuasion and surprisingly, Mikhail Bulgakov, The Master and The Margarita – both of whom I begun twice and drifted away from twice)



The most memorable of all prize will undoubtedly go to my current, The Kite Runner. I am at page 277 and will finish it tonight. Mostly when I finish a book I enjoy I feel rather sad and ‘miss’ it for the couple of days or more it takes me to find another and hit that stage of ‘engrossment’ you get where you can’t wait for your lunch hour, journey home etc so you can start reading it again.



I am not sure whether I will experience that feeling tonight, despite the fact I think the book extraordinary and utterly engaging.



Reason being is that I have been feeling mostly pretty upset throughout reading the book. Today I cried for the fifth time. The first session I had with it, I sobbed. So much so in fact that when I got off the train in tears and got into my car, I had to sit at the wheel for five minutes purging my sadness before I was in state to start driving home! I then went to bed that night sobbing also.



I don’t think I am unusual in this respect. The Kite Runner was pressed upon me by my sister who warned me that I would find it difficult. My boss looked almost fearful when catching sight of it upon my desk and a colleague informed me he had comforted his girlfriend only a few months ago as she worked her way through it.



I’m sure most regular readers will have actually read it by now. As with most books, I am terribly behind the times. If you haven’t though, I do recommend it and a box three-ply of tissues.



Re. future reads…..I am sun-holidaying next month and require a couple of suitable books therefore. I do think that holiday books are a genre of their own and don’t have any front-running candidates at the moment. If anyone has any recommendations, I would most gratefully hear them.

A 'small' feature on peignoir sets.

A peignoir set is one the most elegant and beautiful of the vintage clothing types in my eyes. Although often referred to as lingerie, I wouldn’t call them such – they are bed clothes/night wear/‘floating around the house clothes’ as I call them. I kind of see them as the female equivalent of the men’s ‘smoking jacket’, though admittedly many of them are too sheer for accepting any house-callers in!

Some of them are however so absolutely fabulous that you could get away with wearing them nowadays as a ball/cocktail dress – which some of the more daring vintage-wearers do actually do.

So, a peignoir set comprises a slip and a robe. The word peignoir comes from the French peigner - ‘to comb one’s hair’… and you WILL have seen these in a dozen silver screen movies where, true to their conception, Doris Day et al would be sat at their dressing tables brushing their hair whilst wearing them. As if by magic, I have some very pictures of silver screeners fashioing peignoirs of the time...

Herewith we have the lovely Ms Veronica Lake -



And then a lovely photo of Ann Sheridan (by dressing table of course):



There were two main types in the 40s and 50s – the baby doll, and the ‘Olga’ or ‘Vanity Fair’ (these were the top peignoir producing companies – Olga coined the look really and all other companies merely produced Olga/Vanity fair copies.) Olga and Vanity Fair peignoirs can go for up £400 - but you can get them on ebay for good prices if you look hard – the Dixie Dallas shop is on .co.uk and specialises in both.

Baby doll



First, an example of the baby doll (which six times out of ten comes in pink) –



The baby doll is always high on the neck/round necked, is short (above the knee), kicks out from the bust area. The above shot is of the nightie only. A robe will tie or fasten to cover it completely like so:



Olga/Vanity Fair

My favourites. Particularly the classic Olga style (nipped waist, v-cut neck line, full skirt to ankles). Aka this GORGEOUS thing:



I am rhapsodic about this set. It’s the most perfectly wonderful set I have ever seen (though not the most expensive actually)

The above at $200 would be a pretty good deal compared to this cashmere Saks Fifths Avenue one at $1200 (www.midnightglamour.com):



I understand of course that having laid eyes the above most perfect ever Olga you will be overcome by an immediate and pressing desire to own one so as to float gracefully from room to room in your house in it… it is only natural. To this end, so you can go seek and find, I can tell you it is an Olga style number 9788 and 92270. I am certainly NOT, however, not telling you where it is for sale this instance… in case you go and bid for it 

Other classic Olga examples:





Also made famous by Olga / Vanity Fair, though not in their classic cut are the full length baby doll style aka:





If you are looking for a high ‘floatient factor’, this is the one for you. And on the floatie factor – the ‘floatiness’ is ACTUALLY measured! Peignoirs come with what is called a ‘sweep’ measurement – from about 89 to about 250. 250 denotes being the fullest skirt you can get that will therefore sweep out behing you to the maximum, as you walk. The most perfectly wonderful set above has a 180 sweep.

I could show you picture after picture of these lovelinesses but the best place the check them out (though not, I would recommend to buy as you will pay full market rate), is www.midnightglamour.com.

I do though have to show you this one as it’s so outrageously indulgent you could have your own personal coronation in it 



Above is probably a 350 sweep – or more.

So then, slob around the house in a pair of teddy-bear dotted pjs…. or, as an alternative, drift elegantly from room to room smelling flowers and reading urgent telegrams, in one of these decadences.

Or some such, I’ve not really got a strong image in my mind about it at all…

A small confession

I have a confession to make.

Over the past two weeks, I have become… a gamer. Yes. You heard me, a gamer. I am on the game.

And it’s shameful to admit, but........... I love it.

I’m not sure how long I’ll be doing it for. At the moment I am completely addicted though. I can’t wait to get home just to get on it. I just love the outfits I get to wear and the people I meet, especially the ones wearing helmets.

I just intended on doing it for ten days – for free of course, but then money was handed over and that’s just made the whole experience even better. Thing is, I was improving, I was getting better and better and I just couldn’t stop after ten days knowing I could become REALLY experienced. Experience is what makes you a success at it.

I mostly do it with a guy call Tabh – I met him the first night I was on it. He’s really muscled and likes to cover himself entirely in chain-mail. He has a thing about pelts and animal skin.

I just stick with normal clothes and prefer covering myself in herbs although there’s obviously lots of exercise involved and it’s really tiring, I’m certainly not anywhere near as buff as he is. Well, I wouldn’t want to be, I think all those muscles are bit OTT.

I spend most of my time chasing Tabh around. I run around in my various outfits thinking,

‘God I look cool in that flowing scarlett robe and gold arcane belt’

I run o’er mountain tops to seek out the ‘Orb of Athelrod’. I am attacked by Warlocks from the evil Brotherhood of Defias from the frontiers of Elwynn Forest in the land of Quel’thalas. I rain fire from my ‘Lightstaff of the Owl Hoard’ upon the Horde.

Oh yes, I am a WOW geek and proud. I’m gaming and it’s bloody brilliant!

It’s so completely fantastical – it’s like BEING IN the Lord of the Rings!!!!

I get to hear people shout ‘Heal me Calliope!’ and run to their side casting mana-spells hither and thither :))). I polymorph my foes and arcane shatter their consorts.

Oh the drama! J

No doubt this will whittle away in some weeks – as many of my ‘fads’ do, but for the moment, I only wanna talk about the fact I’m on the game….Exchange commands with me. Boost my stats. Level me up!

http://www.worldofwarcraft.com/index.xml

The warm cloak of God's love

I didn't think anything could make me laugh today.

I was wrong.

A kind man handed me a leaflet... and it said...

My Dear Friend,

May I lovingly tell you that one day you will die and open your eyes in another world: either in...

• A state of supreme happiness and joy, exceeding anything ever known in this life, known as...

HEAVEN

• A state of unbelievable anguish, pain and torment, exceeding anything ever known in this life, known as...

HELL
(little animation of flames)

• There is no annihilation!
• There is no re-incarnation!
• There is no escape!

I just love those kind Christians. They really do uplift one's soul.

Pass me the smelling salts

Another mishap in my professional life occurred yesterday. Quite a stunner too – I give myself ten out of ten for this one - falling down stairs or mistaking strangers for colleagues doesn’t even come close to this.

I will regale….

It was 4.30 pm in Hill Dickinson’s offices. All 16 members of the Corporate Team were in the main board room for our monthly presentation of business development activities. My mind had begun to wander away from the current presentation of the banking fee earner and so I idly cast my attention upon the plaster wound around the index finger of my left hand.

The previous night I had been cooking a fine Italian pasta dish and had neatly sliced across the top of my finger. It had bled somewhat and had been bandaged up by means of a simple cloth plaster. Whilst my mind wandered in the meeting, I was intrigued to discover the state of the finger and thus began to unravel the plaster from around it (remembering of course to smile intermittently at my colleague who has been pursuing some truly wonderful business development activities this month.)

The plaster had unfortunately been applied so as to stick somewhat to the wound itself. Removing it caused the wound to open somewhat to reveal unsightliness.

(and now, for safety, I shall take a break and go outside for some fresh air for writing this is causing some unpleasant sensations. Truly.)

I quickly replaced the plaster after viewing the nauseating sight of raw flesh and tried to ignore the persistent image of the offending wound in my head.

The vision continued to plague my mind.

I became hot and felt sick. I became aware of the now-echoey voice of my banking colleague.

Then all went blank.

I fainted.

I fainted sat in a board room of 16 colleagues….because of a small cut on my finger.

Fortunately when the fainting occurred I was sat down. So it could have been worse.

Obviously I know not how long I was ‘out’ for, my consciousness returned prompted by the voices of my colleagues trying to revive me. :))))))))

For the first few seconds, my head remained upon my chest and I was rather confused. Then I realised I was conscious and jumped up in my chair announcing quickly ‘Sorry, I just fainted for a minute’

EVERYONE was staring at me mouths agape with a repetitive ‘Are you OK?’ being directed at me.

Alas, there was no knight of a white steed to sweep me into his saddle and waft smelling salts under my nose. Instead, my good friend and colleague Melanie, a most confident and efficient woman, immediately strode over to my chair, hoisted me up and marched me out of the meeting for ‘air and water’.

As I left the room I said, ‘Sorry! I shouldn’t have taken my plaster off.’ (I mean, what the hell was THAT??)

I think in all the ensuing comments from colleagues (‘No wonder you’re a vegetarian...’ being one of them) the one that most amused me was my boss’s statement that at first he had ignored me and thought nothing particularly was wrong as, ‘I thought it was just you being dramatic’.
Cheers D.

So there you go. Another proud achievement for my catalogue of career climbing endeavours.

Nothing to write home about

Another direly dull day at the office.

The effect of this is magnified by the fact I am feeling in a bad mood in any event. No particular reason, I could feel it rising yesterday and now it is soaring high.

Just been out and bought Blindness by Jose Saramango and The Cleft by Doris Lessing. Finished Fatherland by Robert Harris on the train this morning. Prior to that read THE WONDERFUL, The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera which I heartily, heartily recommend to ALL. Oh, I lie, prior to that was the Chinese-English Dictionary for Lovers which was also great. Very similar relationship-types featured in the two books, the protagonist male in both being almost mirror-images of each other. This was completely coincidental but reading them side by side I think enhanced my reading experience.

Next on my to read list are:

Walden Two – BF Skinner

The Child Garden – Geoff Ryman

Tropic of Cancer – Henry Miller

The Glass Bead Game – Herman Hesse

Artists I want to know more about are:

Alfonse Mucha

Frederic Leighton

Aubrey Beardsley

This week's Quoteboard humorous quotes are:

‘Whom are you?’ said he, for he had been to night school.

You should never touch your eye but with your elbow (Proverb)

Never rub bottoms with a porcupine (Ghanaian Proverb)

I’ve given up reading books; I find it takes time off myself.

I haven’t spoken to my wife in years. I didn’t want to interrupt her.

Joyful, joyful

I have just received news into my inbox of perhaps the most exciting theatre event that in my opinion could ever be devised.

Well, I suppose, that might be overstating it JUST a little… but I do want to you understand just how UTTERLY COMPELLING I find this event. And how utterly coincidental too.

I was only bemoaning to my brother-in-law LAST WEEKEND how devastatingly charmed I was by a certain gentleman and how I held out hope that a party I will be attending should be visited by said gentleman. I was informed that alas, due to the Object Of My Affection’s schedule, it was inconceivable he would be attending the party.

It has been a hard week. I have had sleepless nights and have eaten little. My pallor is wan, my spirits low and my hair, limp and lifeless as my heart. I have found neither joy in the star-strewn night skies nor delight in the sun-filled days. You could even say -

this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire, why, it appears no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours

If you wanted to. And that would be great, because, well, it’s Mr Hamlet’s wonderfully bleak speech which, on especially Goya-esque days, I resonate in the delicious melodrama of.

But people… imagine how much greater it would be…. how, absurdly splendiferous it would be, if the very object of my affection, were to lament the majestical roofs with me???

Why, it would be a dream come true for you, Natalie, I hear you reply.

And, I say, but it IS a dream come true….for it is happening and will happen this very December! For, oh yes, the delightful Mr David Tennant is to appear as the title-role in the RSC’s production of Hamlet!!!!

Could you GET any better than that!!!!!

Hamlet is my undisputed favourite play and Mr Tennant, well, he sits on Johnny Depp’s geeky right hand and would be responsible for me staying in every Saturday night were I not Sky Plus enabled.

And all this, hot on the heels of ANOTHER fantasy realised (and I think the writer, Stephen Moffat must have tapped into my brain as I slept for this one) – a Dr Who episode (featuring DT of course) set – in a library! And not just any library – but an entire PLANET that is library.... A Victorian libraryI And the fact that the majority of the action was carried out in the circular domed section of the library – well, it’s almost utopian.

I have since researched on the library featured in the two recent episodes and have discovered that the domed section scenes were shot on location on Swansea Central Library. And for an added element of attraction, if sufficient didn’t already exist, I discover that that great liberal heavyweight, Mr William Gladstone, opened it…

"O day and night, but this is wondrous!"

Quotes

Some words for those who might need them...

How is one to live a moral and compassionate existence when one is fully aware of the blood, the horror inherent in life, when one finds darkness not only in one's culture but within oneself? If there is a stage at which an individual life becomes truly adult, it must be when one grasps the irony in its unfolding and accepts responsibility for a life lived in the midst of such paradox. One must live in the middle of contradiction, because if all contradiction were eliminated at once life would collapse. There are simply no answers to some of the great pressing questions. You continue to live them out, making your life a worthy expression of leaning into the light.

I wanted a perfect ending. Now I've learned, the hard way, that some poems don't rhyme, and some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle, and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what's going to happen next. Delicious Ambiguity.

Our ideals resemble the stars, which illuminate the night. No one will ever be able to touch them. But the men who, like the sailors on the ocean, take them for guides, will undoubtedly reach their goal.

If growing up is the process of creating ideas and dreams about what life should be, then maturity is letting go again.

Have patience with everything that remains unsolved in your heart. Try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books written in a foreign language. Do not now look for the answers. They cannot now be given to you because you could not live them. It is a question of experiencing everything. At present you need to live the question. Perhaps you will gradually, without even noticing it, find yourself experiencing the answer, some distant day.

Night time terror in Darwen: Part 2

And so the story continues....

Rattus stared. I stared back. Neither of us moved.

A current of understanding passed between us.

Slowly, ever so slowly, I pushed myself quietly away from the dusty, in need of a sweep, floor until I stood upright again, Rattus eclipsed once more from my view.

I stood silently, some moments passed. Brain slowly clicking through what I had just witnessed.

And the then the terror overwhelmed me... finally. I succumbed to its ineluctable power as Rattus to cheese. Shrieking as loudly as my neighbourliness would permit I jeted up and down momentarily before exeunting through the lounge door and trailing a blaze up the stairs, straight into my bedroom and BOLTING the door.

Quick as a flash I was under the bed covers.

But Mother Fate was on my side! I had carried my phone up to bed with me! Seizing the handset I speed-dialled for assistance. Not the police, no... though this was clearly an emergency call.

No. Something better than the police...a man who carried fleas his pocket for fun. (well, there is a longer version of this story and it was not EXACTLY for fun - more to prove a point but hell... he doesn't mind fleas in his pocket for Christs sake!)

Flea-man answered and the story was unfolded within seconds.

Flea-man was calm, cool and collected. Despite the hour, he delightfully offered to ride post-haste to my assistance and to chase the offending animal from my abode.

I was desperate to shout 'Yes! Come and trash the filthy rodent from my lounge'... but empathy overwhelmed terror. We settled instead for an early morning call, safe in the knowledge that Mr Darcy would not sleep while Rattus inhabited his patch. Padme and Puck were clearly of no use in the stand-off. The day I named Mr Darcy was the day I blessed him with all the bravery and dignity of his namesake. I knew he would not fail me.

And so, I put down the phone and with a fluttering heart I drifted off to sleep.

The morning came too soon. Again I was faced with the prospect of returning downstairs to face Rattus. Stepping lightly down the stairs and inching open the lounge door, I furtively scanned the room.

Padme and Puck were nowhere to be seen.

Like mother like son.

But there, there crouched in the EXACT same spot in which I had left him seven hours earlier was Mr Darcy - the perennial hero.

Seven hours on sentry duty had left its toll on him. His whiskers were dropping with fatigue and his eyes were rimmed with the redness of too little sleep. Yet, throughout all his exhaustion, he had stayed awake and his muscles were as primed to pounce as the first moment he had seen Rattus.

I darted past the television and into the kitchen slamming the door behind me. Collecting my thoughts and daily belongings, I was suddenly filled with an overwhelming sense of calm. I had faced mice in my life. Plenty of them. I was raised in the country and was used to a seasonal influx of six mice a night during harvest time. What is a rat but a large mouse? Who did the family turn to in those early days to rid the sitting room of furry little beings? Me, that's who. And here I was, 29 years of age, cowed by its larger cousin. Shame on me!

I turned and calmly opened the kitchen door. Rattus would NOT get the better of me this time. This was MY house and he should be the one sloping about in fear, not me.

With all the resilience and pride of my noble sex, I held my head up, flicked my hair high into the air and proudly, loudly walked slowly and confidently past the television, into the corridor and out into the freedom and safety of the outerworld.