Before you are tempted to embark on a “quick sort-out”, allow me to present the maths involved in this task, as researched by me following a recent venture into a cupboard at Penman Towers.
During a recent outing to that there Embra Fringe, I enjoyed the usual highlight of such a visit, which is spotting slebs – not on stage, but just going about their business as tourists.
I know I promised to report on the latest pilgrimage to see Bruce Springsteen on Broadway, but I am afraid one wrinkly rocker has been eclipsed by four others since then.
I bring news of joy and disaster from the latest Penman pilgrimage to see Bruce Springsteen.
Once women get beyond a certain age (which begins with a five and ends with a zero), they are constantly warned that unless they slather their faces in stuff on a regular basis their skin will begin to crack and eventually disintegrate. This has prompted me to compile one of my handy cut-out-and-keep guides. Welcome to skincare routines through the decades:
When did chocolate get so fancy and precious? It has become almost impossible to source good old-fashioned low cocoa content milk chocolate of the kind we associate with giving toddlers in button form.
The Student took me to the cinema for my Mother’s Day treat this year. As my regular reader will be aware, this is a safe bet with me, as I like to keep up with the latest films (see last week’s ramblings).
Yaaaaay!!! Daffs! Tulips! Wee pots of colour brightening up the house after the long, dark winter. It is a scientific fact* that a vase of daffodils lifts the mood and makes even the grumpiest of grumps smile. And the price of happiness? £1 for a bunch.
It was tempting to think that, with the Student officially off the books at home, my list of worries regarding said Student would become shorter. Ha! The last laugh’s on me.
It has been hard to ignore the growing hair-raising frenzy relating to hair in the news recently. From the royal princes to the US President, debate has been raging about whether to disguise hair loss (with elaborate, bouffant combovers), shell out for transplants or just stop pretending and embrace the razor cut.