Thursday 26 October 2006

Well, what a wonderful week this is. AOL has been kind enough to make my humble journal Blog of the Week. My dreamy mug appears on the main blogs page for all to see and lots of people have been tuning in - some have been kind enough to leave their lovely feedback, for which I can never be sufficiently grateful. It's all very exciting. I am wondering, however, what all these lovely folk would think if they knew the terrible truth behind the photograph of me that accompanies this blog.

Do not take alarm, dear blog, the picture is genuinely me. It was taken in July of this year, while I was on holiday with my partner. We were in our favourite place in the world - Dartmoor - and were returning to the car after a wonderful evening walk (it was during that wretched heatwave, so we couldn't walk during the day). We had been walking for about six miles, to some old tin-mining ruins on the South Moor and were a couple of miles from the car when my partner decided to capture an image of me sitting on a high grassy bank, gazing serenely at the setting sun. I am always happy to be photographed and arranged myself into a suitable pose. But my smile hides a terrible dark secret. In making myself comfortable, I realised, almost precisely as the camera shutter was descending to capture my sunlit beauty for posterity, that I had inadvertently sat on my partner's sunglasses. Uh-oh.

As I was being praised for posing so sweetly, a mounting sense of dread was sweeping over me. I leapt swiftly off the bank as my partner was replacing the camera in her rucksack and took care to put a good distance between us. Sure enough, she quickly spotted the now-twisted metal that had been bent well out of shape by my pert little buttocks. They were her prescription sunglasses, obtained at great cost, as well. In Chanel frames. She looked first at the ruined spectacles, then at me, and then tried to put them back on.

Perhaps, on reflection, laughter at her bizarre appearance was NOT the wisest option available to me. I expected a telling off, but the evening and the walk had soothed us both. My partner gave a philosophical sigh and resigned the glasses to the rucksack, where they remained for the rest of the holiday.

I wish my partner was always this philosophical, for I sense deep trouble ahead. She has now begun prompting at the rehearsals for the play which she hopes will reunite her with BC. However, she learned last evening that he is unlikely to show himself, as he has an 'away' sporting fixture on the very day of the play. This led to much disappointment and a resolution. The plan? To seek him out tomorrow afternoon (Friday). I'd offer to accompany her, but I fear I would not be able to stop myself from dealing out the whipping-and-nipping that the boy deserves, so she proceeds alone. I shall, of course, report the outcome but I warn you now: it won't be pretty. Oh dear.

Good day.