Showing posts from October, 2011

Evidence that lip enhancement can be achieved for under forty pounds.

Well, I did it.  I went and got some injections and now I have Enormous Fat Lips, just like I said I wanted in a previous post. You thought I never would, didn't you? You thought I was joking, didn't you? Well, I've done it. The only thing is .... - they're not permanent - they're a little uneven - I can feel them more than I can see them and .... - I got them at the dentist Okay, so they're not the real thing, and only there because I had to have two fillings and therefore a shedload of anaesthetic enough to numb a herd of wildebeest.  But just for a few hours, as I sit here, just returned from the dentist, my lips feel deliciously Massive. And they only cost me £36.  I bet celebrities pay a LOT more than that. When I got on the bus back from the dentist, I had to speak to the bus driver, of course.  And my lips felt so big, like two barrage balloons top and bottom, that instead of saying, 'Single to Leamington, please,'

Evidence that the more traditional literary themes can sometimes prove inferior

I'm reading a book about pies.  It's by James M Cain and it's called 'Mildred Pierce', and I think if you asked the author what his book was about he'd say something posh like 'family conflict' or 'survival in the face of circumstances' or 'loss of love', but basically it's about pies.  Have you read it?  (Or seen the mini-series which had Kate Winslet in it?  There was a lot of noise about it, all of which I evidently missed.) It starts with a husband and wife splitting up.  This happens while they're in the kitchen where she's making pies .  Then they split, and she starts selling pies to earn money.  Then she starts working in a cafe and finds that the pies they buy are inferior to her pies .  So she persuades the cafe owner to buy her pies instead.  Then she starts a pie restaurant.  Now I read that she's running a take-away pie service as well as the restaurant. That's as far as I've got, but things are bu

Evidence that I really ought to keep things in better perspective

I don't watch horror or slasher movies.  I just don't see why I should pay money to be frightened out of my own skin.  If I wanted to pay to be scared, I could put some money in one of those speak-your-weight machines, but I wouldn't do that either.  Call it denial, but whether it's extreme violence, or finding out that the diet of chips, cheese and chocolate isn't doing much for my ambitions to be J-Lo's body double, I just don't want to know. J-Lo was thinking, 'I wonder how Fran's getting on with her diet.  I could do with a day off soon.' But sometimes you see horrific things by accident, and it's too late to look away. I was in a toy shop on Friday, browsing to find a present for someone.  There was this little cherub-like blonde girl, trailing around behind her a toy donkey on wheels attached to a pull-along stick which she'd taken off one of the shelves.  It was a clever toy because the donkey kicked its legs about while

Evidence that even a small stage can support me for a full 20 minutes

Bored?  Here's something to do other than eat your own ear wax. Check out my new videos at  and you can see me in action. The bombleybombley thing?  Er .... long story.  One day I'll tell it.

Evidence that junk email can be useful for something, if only for a blog post rich in triviality and pointlessness

This is my junk email, all arrived today.  I daren't click on the links, as I know they will all connect me to a Medieval Plague of Viruses, but I feel I have to reply, so I will do so here. Message 1. Halifax Online Service Security Update Well, thanks for that, Halifax Bank, or Probably-Not-Halifax-Bank, but I'd get advice on your use of capital letters for the beginnings of all your words.   It arouses instant suspicion, in a serial-killer-suspicion kind of way.  Think: 'I Am Coming To Get You With a Big Knife'. Message 2. Nothing beats a British fry-up! Well, there you're wrong.  Not getting junk mail with stupid messages beats a British fry-up.  And cut out the exclamation marks.  I spend the whole day, every day, telling 14 year olds not to over-use the exclamation mark, then I get home at the end of the day, and there's you, bombarding me with insincere emotion so that I click on your dodgy link.  Bog off. Message 3. Handbag giveaway every day

Evidence that I do actually read other people's blogs occasionally

2nd post of the day!  Wahey!  Can you tell it's nearly half-term? But I'm only here to say that, if you like funny, you'll love Mrs Crayon.  If you don't already follow, go and see.  Her latest post made me giggle and giggle.  And that was just after watching Downton Abbey.  Tonight has been a rollercoaster of emotion.

Evidence that Fran's Granny could, at any point, be asked to shove over and make room

I've always wanted to live in an institution. I don't know why this is.  I guess one day I might get my wish (and sooner rather than later, perhaps, judging by the strange looks my kids give me and the way they say, 'MoTHER!'). I think it might have something to do with all the Enid Blyton books I read about boarding schools when I was a kid, such as 'The Twins at St Clare's' and 'Upper Fourth at Malory Towers'.  Life in our house wasn't short of chaos (think 'Eastenders' and double it), and I found all the stories about those daily routines like prep at 6 and breakfast at 8.30 and French with Mademoiselle at 10 really appealing. Then, in my early 20s, I went into hospital to have my first child (yes, hospitals were invented then, although I seem to remember giving birth under the influence of ether and a bash on the head with a mallet). And I realised just how much I loved being in hospital.  I'd dilly-dally for ages over the men

Reasons why I may take the long route to work tomorrow

So, I was walking to school, trogging along the path in my frumpy middle-aged way, loaded down with a rucksack full of marking, planning and a Very Big Packed Lunch  sheaf of report-writing, and feeling as supple and flexible as a recent corpse.  What's more, it was windy, and that all added to my struggle. And, as I lolloped down the path, who should I see ahead of me, actually ON my path and blocking my way? Well, imagine two of these..... .... wearing some of this .... ... only in pink ... and you'll have an accurate picture of the two size-0 women, hermetically sealed in Lycra, who were doing early morning exercises in the park, bending and stretching themselves into such impossible positions that I actually wondered if they were melting. Well, I thought, as I approached them.  Any minute now they, as youthful and fit and flexible as they are and I aren't, will move aside and let me pass so that I don't have to change course and struggle up onto the grass

Evidence that Fran can actually go quiet

This is me. Sorry for my silence.  I will re-emerge at some point.  That point is probably called 'half-term holiday'. Just for now, here's a question for you.  Wouldn't it be funny if someone ACTUALLY fell asleep while in the middle of asking her readers a ques .............