January

In like a lion and out like a lamb; OMG am I so glad to see the back of vile January, every year we set the expectations so high and wish for a better time to come but he first 60 seconds set the tone and did not bode well for a barrel of laughs ahead. An over enthusiastic Hogmanny Hug and, at the point of contact, I actually felt something break inside, a shattered rib no less, Yes Babyboy has been working out of late, weights a-plenty = muscles of steel and has no idea of his own strength.

Day two saw the demise of my laptop, my trusted friend of many years but, I am a loyal lady and determined to make do and mend it , 150 notes later it endured 3 visits to the eponymous repair shop before it was returned to its former glory only to realise it was the fecking broadband speed on a go-slow in the cold after all and nothing to do with the bloody hard drive. Plussing as which, The Treadmill has had a roller coaster time of late, the grey men in suits across the Pond dictated its lifeblood's termination necessitating MD's scheming, plotting and planning of 1-7 future forward scenarios. Crisis talks and Global demonstrations rallied response and an eleventh hour stay of execution saved the day; We are going Dutch.......for better or for worse, only time will tell. Staff unrest, audits, swine flu' frenzy not to mention Travelling Tarmac extortion racket (see previous blog) and one tragic staff suicide...... all in all a stressful start to the financial year.

The Haiti disaster saddened me hugely, those poor desperate people, who only last autumn, lost everything as the hurricane swept through, now have less than nothing. I only pray the money collected goes to the correct resources and will in some way ameliorate their tragedy and allow some good to emerge from such a desperate situation

The snow, Christmas credit card bills, Alex Reid winning CBB7, one thing after another..........

Packing

Please can anyone tell me the rules for packing? How soon before departure is it acceptable to start? I enjoy the packing almost as much as the actual Holiday, the anticipation of buying books, sun creams, bikini and sandals; fantasising about the heat on my body when the temperatures are sub zero here. I generally start the week before but in the past two weeks I have been itching to amass my summer wardrobe and visualise the ensembles for various occasions, even though we don't depart 'till late February.

My packing is orchestrated with a military precision, space and weight being at a premium as I always endeavour to take gifts for all my friends who can neither afford nor obtain Western fashion, they text and email me a shopping list prior to my departure and I try not to disappoint, we depart with our hyper-max weight allowance, baggage bulging and every crevice filled and we return home with virtually nothing, all cosmetics, sun prep, medications are duly left behind, as are sandals, tops and dresses. This year I am on a mission to locate a couple of good condition mobile phones, The network has just allowed residents to buy a Sim card, an amazing progression in this Communist country, but the availability of handsets is severely limited due to the US embargo. I have old straightening irons and my new mini ones recently purchased from Topshop, lap dancers limousine heels I can no longer wear due to my knee injury, fat clothes and thin clothes to suit my fluctuating waistline, and bikini belly.

This year I have the added anticipation of Mafia mistress and The Champs wedding, although no directive has been given as to dress code, I have no fewer than three potential outfits at the ready, short and flirty, dark and tarty and ,well I shamefully admit, one is almost respectable. Hair is my worst nightmare, a natural "curly locks" I have rebelled against it all my life; in the 60's I would iron it straight between brown paper, 70s saw jumbo rollers, 80s I had it permed straight and now the recent advent of straightening irons has changed my life, UNTIL I hit a humid climate, Anti frizz shampoos, smoothing serums, poker straight gels and anti humidity sprays, I have got the lot, they work a treat in the UK but abbroad I flounce out of the room looking like Jennifer Aniston (well maybe not quite so young, slim or fabulous, but hey the hair's the same) but arrive at the bar looking like Shirley Temple. This year however I have managed to acquire some of the new failsafe product from the USA "Living proof No frizz". Formulated by an engineer, it is guaranteed.....I have read, digested and believe in all the hype and quite frankly I am expecting miracles.........watch this space

Oooop North

Reflection on this time last week when we ventured ooop North for B.I.L's significant birthday celebration. Lili Sis, B.I.L and cuzzies come here every year for Christmas and over a period of years have come to accept our friends as theirs and vice versa. So it was only second nature for me to invite them all ooop north, unbeknown to him, to share his birthday bash.

Now Lolita is a fashion maven,and panicked when being transported to a destination so far from the capital but was happily reconciled when I assured her she could NEVER be overdressed, over tanned and over blond, and actually even if she wore every jewel she owned (and OMG she has accumulated a fair few "trinkets" in her time by fair means and principally fowl) she soon relaxed into the situation, browsed Netaporter.com and duly orchestrated her and Babyboy's outfits. Lulu, however, being slightly more worldly wise has been there before and not wanting to be outdone by her sis (Lolita) packed accordingly. We do live in a hippy haven and bling shouts in our wine bars, but whatever, we were on a mission and painting the town red, or Gold.

Duplicity sets in as second nature and Lili Sis and I contrive the perfect scenario whereby we are happily ensconced in an (the only one) upmarket Store wine bar with reservation for the restaurant when Lulu and Lolita arrive with their respective partners and wahey it's party time!!! B.I.L is gobsmacked, moved to tears and a jolly good time is had by all.

Hysterical, Lulu, decided lace top hold ups were order of the day for such an auspicious occasion but somewhere along the line they had lost their elasticity. Now, lace top over the knee socks are not a good look, and despite her loved one's conviction that to put a coin in the top would hold them up, this did not work, I think a spot of Alzheimer's had kicked in, and it was only the next day when I remembered you actually had to have been wearing suspenders for this to work, when the suspender snapped off it could temporarily be replaced with a button or coin...Ha Ha Ha....... visualise the scenario of Lulu arriving with £1 coins popping from her stocking tops as she alighted the lift on the 4th floor. Very reminiscent of a scene from Ab Fab..........

However, we all wipe the tears of hysteria from our eyes, check our mascara and B.I.L is truly overcome with emotion (and Bolly) and all this is observed by "the Shoe Bomber" at the next table.

Proceed to table and the remainder of the eve is a happy blur to be recounted in memorable detail the following morning when we all met for brunch.

Magic Needles

Today I had my annual visit to Dr Dollars and his magic needles, an appointment best booked when the diary is free for a day or so. This is a procedure, just like childbirth, where a little knowledge is a dangerous thing, the absolutely worst scenario is to watch the process on TV and visualise yourself under the needle, I speak from a fair few years of experience and can honestly say the "evil poison" does not hurt and the benefits hugely outweigh the discomfort of having a few little pricks in your face...........if you can excuse the terminology!!!!! I consider it to be absolute imperative maintenance procedure and an investment for the future. This is not something I have ever been ashamed of nor pretended hasn't happened, but neither do I broadcast it, from the rooftops; rather to bask in my youthful perception of my onlooker's innocence

I can assure you I am not going for the complete Joan Rivers look, but suffice it to say, my brow furrows have virtually disappeared over the years and conversely I have watched them appear on my friend's faces, those of the scathing Luddites who watched me with a morbid fascination and sentiments along the lines of "how could you?" . I have not yet gone under the knife but never say never. I really cannot understand the celebrity culture to deny the blindingly bloody obvious, who are they trying to kid? The camera does not lie no matter what their "people" tell them or us.

The MD doesn't approve of my vanity, and hopes I am not doing it for him???? Excuse me! It's not his face; it's mine; I don't quite understand that question? It's even my own bank balance so surely this should not enter the equation, What is it with men that they think we dress, to suit them, how little they know about the female psyche and fail to comprehend that we dress and adorn ourselves so that other women will notice. As the more highly developed species' we know men will be none the wiser. PFB on the other hand was fascinated, she actually came and observed a session and is determined to strike whilst the iron is hot and book an appointment as soon as the first crow's toe appears.

The dreaded "filler" however, is another kettle of fish, this is so not nice, I do have the "odd" wrinkle around my mouth that could possibly benefit from a touch of semi-permanent polyfiller and, for this, I do insist on an anaesthetising injection. This is where the fun starts, as the anaesthetic is almost as painful as the jabs, but, once the numbness kicks in Bob's your uncle and he can make merry with all the little pits and crannies that have resulted from a lifetime of laughter and over excess. The subsequent swelling is another matter, hence the necessity to consult the calendar as the trout mouth trauma is not a pretty sight and the general public should be protected for maybe a day or two. Today I did actually venture to Aldi after the event but was happy to do so in the knowledge that the majority of other shoppers would be so much more interested in the designs of fellow shoppers pyjamas than my boatrace.

The relief of being able to exit his consulting room is worth the few hundred notes incurred, suffice it to say, I don't really need that new Prada bag and I do wear my face every day.

footnote Sunday
Waheyyyy I have lips like Angelina Jolie and no side effects

My baby

I must say that this bloggin' malarkey is a bit like having just given birth for the first time, you don't quite know how to handle the precious being you have just created and feel the need to keep rushing to its cot just to make sure it's still alive. Unsure of your own parenting capabilities and skills, it's very much play it by ear and hope you are making the correct judgments, luckily I have only three followers to catch me out; but then I have to ask myself, am I really only doing this for my own self edification?

You have to nourish the "new baby" with stimulating and original information, spellcheck and edit the grammar so you don't look a complete ignoramus, but at the same time, keep it lighthearted, entertaining and spontaneous. A lifelong insomniac, I wake up at night and compose the perfect topic, I feed it, change it, burp it and put it to bed (in my head) then promptly forget the whole content come the following day.

God, we have all read those dog-bloggers who take themselves so seriously and really think they are going to change the World, so, not wanting to appear a "pushy mum", I am going to try to modestly present my "baby" and allow it to develop at its own pace.

An update to yesterday's blog about the "the boys from the Black Stuff", or red as the case may be.......I can now report that the MD is not bonkers, he literally laid his life upon the line and I can honestly say blackmail, extortion and protection rackets are alive and kicking in our locality....I joke not.

Without wanting to sound melodramatic, I honestly think it may be quite a long time before I sleep deeply again without waking at the slightest sound, I sincerely hope this blog will not have to be used in evidence...............

Snob Blog

OK, so don't go expecting three blogs a day from me on a regular basis, but I am feeling kinda dizzy from the heady heights of this Blogosphere, and it's just one of those days when I am opinionated enough to be vocal, plussing as which, MD is out to play this eve and I have no one to sound off to at home.

Tesco has apparently banned customers from wearing pyjamas in its supermarkets!!! Now being a promiscuous shopper I am not a regular frequenter of this chain, preferring Waitrose and Aldi (yes the sublime to the ridiculous I know but together they tick all the boxes,) but even so I have no personal experience of actually seeing someone so inappropriately attired parading the aisles, however, the news report I heard on my way back from the Treadmill which may have been recorded in Liverpool or most probably on the Audenshaw estate of "Shameless" fame said the interviewee had no qualms at all about going out at 11am in her PJ's and slippers "not to do a main shop mind, jus t' get me ciggies, like......." boasting that she had some particularly nice pyjamas with teddy bears and ice creams on........and didn't see anything wrong in even wearing her curlers out.

This city of learning has a very laid back student based population, but I am yet to see anyone in the Grand Arcade (where they recently banned hoodies) in night time attire, not even the muesli belt "types" who drag their offspring around behind them in wheelie bins attached to the rear of their bikes.

However, another concern is the policing of such a policy, will the meeters and greeters at Tesco actually be able to tell the difference between Primark PJ's and Abercrombie & Fitch joggers; the stylists keep telling us we are all going to be wearing sloppy joggers this summer so do I foresee mass exclusion from Tesco and, if so, will Aldi and Lidl actually start to advertise that they are considered the model customer profile. And, will it still be acceptable to wear a nightie, dressing gown or baby dolls?

I am perverse enough to consider challenging this policy, but I don't actually own a pair of jim-jams, and, at the end of the day its what you call style, it's not what you wear but the way that you wear them...........

Tarmac Cowboys

£2.5K is the amount demanded by the "Tarmac Cowboys" and an offer to escort MD to the bank to withdraw the cash. Methinks a phone call to the VAT man, Tax-man, Trading standards and Psychiatrist may be in order.....and probably in that order.....this does not bode well for a peaceful evening

Am getting the hang of this blogging malarkey now, hadn't intended it to be quite so parochial but a great vehicle to vent one's spleen, I had grandoise ideas of other more worthy topics but will fall back on them as and when is necessary. Am still marvelling with my words in print but am battling with the technology and failed ability to advertise my prowess. As predicted PFB is my first follower and no doubt she will recruit with gusto.

Visit by Mafia Mistress eased my angst. Discussions about very laid back Tropical wedding plans for early March along the lines of "don't know what I will wear, "the Champ" will just choose me something....." I am visualising track suits or tennis skirt, black Lycra or pink chiffon; whatever it will be very very short and very very low, they are a couple with indeterminate "style", comfort and bling being high priorities. My outfit, however, will be orchestrated down to the last eyelash, talking of which I am considering having those semi permanent extensions applied, but, am just scathing as to whatever they will endure the two weeks sun, sea and water sports prior to the event. Any advice? I am affeared that they will gradually desert me taking my existing real lashes with them......

Introduction of new character "the Champ", Mafia Mistress's man, soul mate and handbrake. Nuptials on the Caribbean horizon, they have high-jacked our annual jolly, MD has thrown all his toys out of the pram especially as I have extended the aforementioned trip to encompass the happy event, but, I have no doubts all will be well on the day. Whatever, the bash is booked, six of us gathering for the celebration, The Strumpet not amused to be left behind but sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind...... to yourselves. More details to be supplied

Had better blog off now I see a familiar lorry pulling onto the premises and cannot decide whether to barricade myself into the fortress (the key cupboard) or stand to the side and watch the fisticuffs

Potholes

I really have to question the sanity of the MD in the light of today's events, I arrive at the treadmill to find the entrance blocked by a team of 7 roadworkers, all jovially conversing in Irish accents.... apparantly spreading the ubiquitous "tarmac". We all know this scenario of old and would expect intelligent people to be "buyer aware", apparantly this has passed the MD by and he only acknowledged there may be something amiss as the tarmac gradually spread its way down the forecourt towards the showroom. At this point i must add it was RED tarmac!!!! It so does not compliment our Treadmill corporate livery of blue and silver.

They were asked to fill in a pothole at the top of the drive, a responsibility I would have thought the parish council should have accepted but once the MD gets the bit between his teeth he is on a mission.

The gang have now been summarily despatched with a flea in their ear but I hear heated converstaions and catch snippets of "so you will be sending an invoice" and "no, I am not trying to be clever", coming from the MDs office
We expect a brick through the window at close of play
watch this space........

Virgin Blog
27/01/10

OMG, well i never thought I would do this but here I am launching myself off into the blogosphere, frimly strapped in by my safety belt with oxygen mask at the ready; I really don't want to crash land on page one. Not that I anticipate any followers (probably only PFB will be interested) but for what it's worth I'm in orbit......

The main characters

Trashionister; Cynical style observer. Child of the 50's, born with a passion for fashion, how I loved my lemon yellow nylon hair ribbon and more's to the point, why do I still have it? (future topic blogs concerning my eclectic hoarding nature to follow). An Art student mod in the 60s, hippy to pregnant punk in the 70s, Sloane in the 80s and ...well now I think I know who I am...... without definition

MD; the Managing Director, husband, boss, workaholic, the good guy

PFB; talented, inspirational, loving and beautiful daughter, hugely successful fashion forecaster and girl about town.

Son#1; clever, caring and animated "mad man"

Lilly sis; who used to be younger than me, lives ooop north

B.I.L; brother in law

The Cuzzies; son and daughter of the above

Mafia mistress: best friend of 30 years, soul mate and partner in crime, bride to be, half Italian extrovert and mother of...

The strumpet; 14 going on 28, born screwed, weaned on sex and the City, Eastenders and Bad Girls, God daughter of PFB,

Rock star; frontman in band coming your way shortly, you heard them here first

Franco; middle child

The treadmill; family business which contaminates everything

well, no turbulance so far and, as we are cruising in comfort I will press automatic pilot and launch my first blog