I read a newspaper this morning in which something had gone wrong with the printing of the Lonely Hearts section, meaning that none of the words were decipherable.
How cruel is that for any ladies looking for love? Sod's law decrees that it would be today that THIS man places his advert ...
'Male, George Clooney lookalike - 6 feet tall - clean-shaven - Mills & Boon chin - Greco-Roman chiselled facial features - muscles that ripple like a pond - likes wining and dining women at Michelin star restaurants - millionaire with yacht moored in the Seychelles - hobbies include telling women how beautiful they are even though they're a bit plump and menopausal - WLTM anyone really, generally not fussy, not even bothered if you haven't shaved your legs or done your roots or cleared out your make-up bag for months ...'
.... and on that ONE day, the printing gets messed up, and you go away disappointed to watch your Oceans Thirteen video for the fifth time this month and eat a whole Viennetta and THEN some oven chips with an egg which breaks in the pan, but who cares, dammit?
|So pretty. Such a shame to cut it ..... I'll just fetch a big spoon.|
And, talking about love (for Clooney ... Viennetta ... whatEVer ...), I went to see my Granny today in her care home and there was an old lady of about 90 in the day room with us who kept yelling, 'You can't sleep with ME. I've only got a single BED. You can't sleep with ME. There's no room in my single BED.' It was disconcerting. No matter how often I tried to resume my conversation with Gran ('Do you like your new slippers, then, Granny?' - 'What did you have for lunch today?' - 'Oh, that cardigan's a nice colour.') my efforts were subsumed beneath the impressive vocal powers of the old lady to my right. Not only that, but there was a Poirot mystery on the television, typically turned up so loud that it was more of an invasion than an entertainment and French phrases ('Zis is very straunge ... I sink ze killer iz still 'ere in ze 'ouse') boomed into the room.
I turned, intending to suggest gently to the old lady that she quieten down a little, but Gran said to me, 'There's no point. She can't hear you. She's stone deaf.'
I was going to attempt a witty, inventive link between the Lonely Hearts story and the care home story but, sadly, I think it's already there.
I just said to my husband, 'I've written a blog post about Clooney.'
'Hm ...,' he mused. 'Now I should know who that is.'
'You don't know who Clooney is?' I said. 'He's about the most famous actor ever. And if I hadn't married you, I'd have married him.'
'Well, Clooney to me is a monastery towards the South of France that was very important in the Middle Ages.'
I looked it up on Google. 'That one's spelt Cluny. And, anyway, are you sure you are not a Martian?'