Parlous,hedonistic,cantankerous.Silly old moo
Joined January 2009
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I am sounding like Cardinal Egan at Midnight Mass, St Patrick's Cathedral 2004:Thanks to Home Protect,ADS and CET Emergency for sorting out my plumbing issues. @keefwilson
I have long been in love with Vallauris pottery. My Tante Hélène always equated it with Picasso. I forever have been picking up bits and pieces. Just now, I turn them over and realise they are by my chum, Jean Marais.
I am the worst wife. The one thing K asked me to do was to hang out the washing, especially socks and pants. I must have done it in a trance as it was done when he got home.
The other night the internet went off and all was suspect. The best thing about it was that I picked up a book. The most hilarious and apt book. A.M. Homes, The Unfolding.
I am the epitome of chaos. I am just today sorting out the masse of summer clothes in just one of the rooms in my ma’s house. The thing that annoys me the most are the feckin’ red dots from my guttate psoriasis. Hydrogen peroxide à gogo!
Here! Hilariously myMa obviously bought a magazine when I was in Phillie when you first got to No.1. A true Peter Cunnah Special, akin to Smash Hits. On the front there is a lure for a quiz inside: Answer Six Questions to See if You Could Be Peter’s Girlfriend. I must send it to
I am doing a bit of a Swedish clean. It’s taking me a long time. I have lots of jotters and according to me in 1999 the people who love me most are: Keith, Daddy, Mummy, Jean Marais, Christophe and Granny.
Met a guy in Val, on a swing seat. He sang SLF to me. I riposted. Dutch, record producer, punk! So much music inour blood.
I was chilly so put on K’s rather lovely orange cable knit polo neck. He quips, “Alright Wilma”. I suppose the big glasses and the bob haircut added to the image,
In Lidl I picked up a Crivit leisure jacket. Thinking K was behind me I asked,”Is this grotesque or …?”. It wasn’t K, just a random woman, who told me it was grotesque. Thank you stranger for saving me from myself.
So: To the French it’s an English goodbye, tothe English it’s a French goodbye and to the Americans it’s an Irish goodbye. And as for the Irish goodbye . . . We’re all still at it from à party in 1999.