Only people named Sally shall be invited to read my blog.
It is a fine name and should be celebrated because it means all these things:
sal·ly / [sal-ee]
-noun
1. a sortie of troops from a besieged place upon an enemy.
2. a sudden rushing forth or activity.
3. an excursion or trip, usually off the main course.
4. an outburst or flight of passion, fancy, etc.: a sally of anger.
5. a clever, witty, or fanciful remark.
6. Carpentry. a projection, as of the end of a rafter beyond the notch by which the rafter is fitted over the wall plate.
–verb (used without object)
7. to make a sally, as a body of troops from a besieged place.
8. to set out on a side trip or excursion.
9. to set out briskly or energetically.
10. (of things) to issue forth.
My name on the other hand would mean nothing at all were it to be popped into the middle of a sentence.
Friday 9 February 2007
Monday 15 January 2007
Cruelty of Youth
I've just heard from a colleague whose (presumably unhappily) single friend was emotionally floored by her 8 year old niece who sweetly enquired 'How come you never have a boyfriend?'
It put me in mind of a comparable occasion when I was doing my level best to play with my friend's 4 year old girl. I'm not good at playing, unless it involves sitting on the floor, drinking champagne and playing the Mr & Mrs board game with equally drunken friends. I can't even hold my own with reading a storybook. The child on the receiving end of my spoken word book narration tends to stare at me open-mouthed for reading the words in the book out loud, which I thought was the general idea. Apparently you're supposed to practically act the bloody thing out, with frequent 'engaging' interjections of pointing at a picture and asking what it is in a high-pitched sing-song voice. If I wanted to look like a tit in front of everyone I'd have done Drama Studies at college and would now be working for a school education drama group in manner of Legz Akimbo.
So before I wander off on a rant about the way people speak to young children with an entire vocabulary of crap otherwise never used in the English language (there's nothing like teaching by example), I'll get to the point.
I had bought aforementioned delightful 4 year old a book about a ballet-dancing mouse who was rehearsing to put a show on for friends and family (a definite candidate for Drama Studies A-level - assuming of course that rodents can a/dance ballet and b/enrol in higher education). The book contained all sorts of activities including a magic wand to decorate, a tutu to dress up in (alas, not my dress size) and some invitations to hand out for the mouse-ballet which was to be the culmination of both the story and the frenzied pirouetting in the living room.
4 year old decided to include me in the game and as I sat there waving my wand and clenching my buttocks with horror at being so far beyond my interacting-with-children comfort zone, it happened: "I'll be the Sugar Plum Fairy" she trilled "and you can be the Old Fairy".
It put me in mind of a comparable occasion when I was doing my level best to play with my friend's 4 year old girl. I'm not good at playing, unless it involves sitting on the floor, drinking champagne and playing the Mr & Mrs board game with equally drunken friends. I can't even hold my own with reading a storybook. The child on the receiving end of my spoken word book narration tends to stare at me open-mouthed for reading the words in the book out loud, which I thought was the general idea. Apparently you're supposed to practically act the bloody thing out, with frequent 'engaging' interjections of pointing at a picture and asking what it is in a high-pitched sing-song voice. If I wanted to look like a tit in front of everyone I'd have done Drama Studies at college and would now be working for a school education drama group in manner of Legz Akimbo.
So before I wander off on a rant about the way people speak to young children with an entire vocabulary of crap otherwise never used in the English language (there's nothing like teaching by example), I'll get to the point.
I had bought aforementioned delightful 4 year old a book about a ballet-dancing mouse who was rehearsing to put a show on for friends and family (a definite candidate for Drama Studies A-level - assuming of course that rodents can a/dance ballet and b/enrol in higher education). The book contained all sorts of activities including a magic wand to decorate, a tutu to dress up in (alas, not my dress size) and some invitations to hand out for the mouse-ballet which was to be the culmination of both the story and the frenzied pirouetting in the living room.
4 year old decided to include me in the game and as I sat there waving my wand and clenching my buttocks with horror at being so far beyond my interacting-with-children comfort zone, it happened: "I'll be the Sugar Plum Fairy" she trilled "and you can be the Old Fairy".
Saturday 23 December 2006
Underwater Rockets
Christmas has come early with Rick returning to me the Precious Folder containing my collection of colour sample cards for paint.
I appreciate that as a comparatively functional human being I really shouldn't own such a thing, let alone admit to it. My life doesn't revolve around a games console, I don't have a penchant for trigonometry and I can't quote anything by Stephen Hawkins. I can talk to people face-to-face in a really very pleasant manner - not at all like those boys in the Department of Computation* at the University where I was temping, who may well have been the next Einstein but blushed and stammered furiously at every exchange. Bless them, it was possibly the first time they had spoken/mumbled to a real-life unrelated female.
However, I'm a shameless geek when it comes to all things decorating.
I can't quite seem to help myself picking up a handful of the little colour cards from the special display cabinet every time I go to B&Q. I love Farrell & Ball and I have a special place in my heart for Craig & Rose. The words Laura and Ashley spoken in the same sentence can unleash an unbridled passion Jane Austen would have shied away from. But all of this is, I believe, forgivable. Let's be honest, the Laura Ashley catalogue and magazines of the 'Period Home' ilk are house porn and I have a number of friends who like to indulge. Sharing house porn isn't quite as unsavoury as its earthier cousin - it's quite acceptable practice actually.
The shameful bit is owning a file in which I've organised catalogues, brochures, colour cards and magazine articles. It makes me feel a bit like a serial killer. Normal on the outside "oooh, she seemed so nice, you'd never have known!" but freaky obsessive in the comfort of my own home.
* I still think they made that word up - the person who founded that particular department may well have been terribly clever with computers but I suspect a poor grasp of English.
I appreciate that as a comparatively functional human being I really shouldn't own such a thing, let alone admit to it. My life doesn't revolve around a games console, I don't have a penchant for trigonometry and I can't quote anything by Stephen Hawkins. I can talk to people face-to-face in a really very pleasant manner - not at all like those boys in the Department of Computation* at the University where I was temping, who may well have been the next Einstein but blushed and stammered furiously at every exchange. Bless them, it was possibly the first time they had spoken/mumbled to a real-life unrelated female.
However, I'm a shameless geek when it comes to all things decorating.
I can't quite seem to help myself picking up a handful of the little colour cards from the special display cabinet every time I go to B&Q. I love Farrell & Ball and I have a special place in my heart for Craig & Rose. The words Laura and Ashley spoken in the same sentence can unleash an unbridled passion Jane Austen would have shied away from. But all of this is, I believe, forgivable. Let's be honest, the Laura Ashley catalogue and magazines of the 'Period Home' ilk are house porn and I have a number of friends who like to indulge. Sharing house porn isn't quite as unsavoury as its earthier cousin - it's quite acceptable practice actually.
The shameful bit is owning a file in which I've organised catalogues, brochures, colour cards and magazine articles. It makes me feel a bit like a serial killer. Normal on the outside "oooh, she seemed so nice, you'd never have known!" but freaky obsessive in the comfort of my own home.
* I still think they made that word up - the person who founded that particular department may well have been terribly clever with computers but I suspect a poor grasp of English.
Wednesday 20 December 2006
Added Boswelox
I wonder if you have enjoyed, as I have, the televisual treat which is the Mandle Candle advertisement?
When is a candle more than a candle? When it's a Mandle Candle!
'Sets the mood for a party'. Are you sure? Is that not a very shit party if you need a candle changing colour from one vile shade to another to set the mood for it?
Great advert though, you can feel the sincerity. I wonder if the voiceover man speaks like that all the time. Would love to see his wife bristle as he comes home with a new gadget to tell her all about. Maybe he lives with Barry Scott from the Cilit Bang advert, suspect they'd be an excellent love match.
When is a candle more than a candle? When it's a Mandle Candle!
'Sets the mood for a party'. Are you sure? Is that not a very shit party if you need a candle changing colour from one vile shade to another to set the mood for it?
Great advert though, you can feel the sincerity. I wonder if the voiceover man speaks like that all the time. Would love to see his wife bristle as he comes home with a new gadget to tell her all about. Maybe he lives with Barry Scott from the Cilit Bang advert, suspect they'd be an excellent love match.
Hallelujah!
Joy of Joys! As if by magic I have been purchased a tin of Alphabetti Spaghetti by my christmas fairy friend, giving me hope for all manner of things. Admittedly it's not actually called that anymore, but what joy, what rapture, what delight upon opening the wrapping paper to reveal the golden light of Heinz Alphabetti shining forth.
I am a bit taken aback upon closer inspection to find that it's made from multigrain pasta shapes and is fortified with vitamins and iron. Whatever next? Nutritious Warburtons Toastie and red jam? Pot Noodles with health-giving properties? McDonalds burgers made from meat?
Oooh, but I would be quite giddy if it were possible to get 100% RDA of everything for robust health and be slender and glowing from a diet of - for example - golden syrup and hazelnut spread on toast for breakfast, a light lunch of Sports Mixture and a packet of those bacon fries crisps thingies and a box of chocolates and bottle of cava for dinner! Mmmmm. Ideal world.
I am a bit taken aback upon closer inspection to find that it's made from multigrain pasta shapes and is fortified with vitamins and iron. Whatever next? Nutritious Warburtons Toastie and red jam? Pot Noodles with health-giving properties? McDonalds burgers made from meat?
Oooh, but I would be quite giddy if it were possible to get 100% RDA of everything for robust health and be slender and glowing from a diet of - for example - golden syrup and hazelnut spread on toast for breakfast, a light lunch of Sports Mixture and a packet of those bacon fries crisps thingies and a box of chocolates and bottle of cava for dinner! Mmmmm. Ideal world.
Wednesday 6 December 2006
Tuesday 5 December 2006
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