I haven't got my specs on,can you speak up?

Everyone who knows my children, knows they like their mum to themselves. They have never had an 'uncle' in the 6 years since I split up from their dad but I have male friends. The one time they actually met a boyfriend, my youngest daughter was so traumatised that I decided I wouldn't bother again until she had bingo wings of her own. So I haven't. She's nearly 11 now and I've just been making do with Midsomer Murders and cooking sherry.
So, imagine how surprised I was when the following conversation ensued with her this morning.
"I have woken up with you in my bed again darling. 11th year in a row"
"I have no idea how I get here mummy. They must bring me. You know...."them".
There usually follows a bit of silence here as I try not to worry about who 'them' are because in any given 'Who can scare who shitless, quickest?' competition, I am usually both the winner and the victim.
"Have you got a boyfriend Mummy?"
"Unless he is happy with the free time I have between putting out the bins and unblocking the drain, I don't think it's something you'll need to worry about for a while. Why, what would you do about it?"
(The options have already been reliably tested:  screaming; forcing herself between us and giving him a look that would curdle milk for 24 hours a day; refusing to do/say anything that could possibly be construed as polite; crying copiously and with remarkable staying power)
"I'd be happy for you mummy"  I looked at her with quizzical scepticism
" No you wouldn't"
" I would. As long as it wasn't Graeme"
" No. I think Graeme knows your feelings on the matter, dear.  You were absolutely clear."
"Or Justin"
"Indeed not, no"
"Or Billy - but he's married so you wouldn't be allowed anyway"
"No...(ahem)"
"Or Frank"
"Would it be quicker to see if there's anyone you do like?"
"I liked Tibi"
"Yes you did but he's back in Romania with his new wife and baby and he was never my boyfriend anyway"
"Where's that?"
"Eastern Europe"
"Awww!! That's a cute name for the baby"
I was surprised at the unexpected change of direction, "Pardon darling?"
"What you said, That's a nice name for it"
"?........?.....Romania?"
"Yes"
"That's not its name"
"What is it then? I thought you said it was"
"I've no idea what the baby's name is"
"Haven't you seen it?"
"No, of course I haven't because they live in Ro...I think they called her Sandra."

Gazebos! Oo that was a big one!

It's summer time and I thought the title of today's blog might help me to get a few hits! I do have a gazebo anecdote but it is a very small one (the anecdote, not the gazebo which is 3m by 3m if you're interested!) I'll put it in somewhere without warning, so that those of you who googled 'gazebos' with a view to researching and perhaps buying one will have to read on to discover when it appears.The same goes for those of you who were searching for  hayfever remedies (I've gazebo'd several times during the course of this blog already) and if you were looking for something saucier altogether, there's something for you later too; see if you can spot it.

 I am warning you that I am alerted when anyone visits my page and the visitor is clearly identified. So, if you find yourself here and don't subscribe, I will hunt you down like a dog.

That said, Welcome to Postcard Pam Goes Large!

For those of you following this blog, I am sorry to say that there has been absolutely no reply from the original Postcard Pam and one can only hope that she has been swept off her feet by someone with big guns, called Juan. At least, that's what I usually hope for myself and so it fits in nicely with the whole doppleganger scenario.

Sarah Mac has completely bowled me over by choosing me as 1 of her 3 top picks of 'Best Blogs under 100 readers'. She even got me another subscriber, which brings the total up to 5 ! Yippee :)  I'm thinking now, I could start an online campaign to get me into the tens of readers. It could happen! Sarah's blog is so natural, warm and funny that you instantly feel that you are sitting in her kitchen with a glass of Pino Grigio along with Ben, Jerry and their cookie dough. Fancy nominated her and since Fancy obviously knows her quality blogs, she must have one herself and I'm determined to mosey on over there the moment that I get a moment.                                                          

I have discovered today that, just like Pavlov's dogs and the bell, I start salivating when The Gilmore Girls are on TV. This is not, as you might imagine, because I salivate AT them, but rather DURING them.
This all started last October when I had an extended period of illness and E4's feel-good American series was airing at 10.20 every day.  Once my routine was established, I would SKY+ it in order to fast forward through the adverts     (No, I am not receiving gratuities from either company mentioned but am happy to if they want to send money my way. Tattoos cost extra) . This meant that I started watching at 11am and since much of the programme centres around eating, I would feel a bit peckish and find myself having lunch with The Gilmore Girls by 11.15.  At that time it was warm pancakes, fruit and yoghurt if you'd like to follow my eating trends.

After a month or so, I found it easier to prepare lunch before I switched it on in order to have uninterrupted viewing. I am currently nearly at the end of my 2nd daily cycle of the show. I am unsure if it's an addiction or a comfort -the jury's out.
  However, what has happened now - horror of horrors -is that it airs an hour earlier, which means that I watch it an hour earlier and yes, you've guessed it, have my lunch even earlier. Shortly I will have to get up before I've gone to sleep in order to get breakfast in.

I held off till 10.35 this morning but my lap was sodden with my own dribbling goop at anticipation of the meal to come. A friend came by at 11.30 to invite me to lunch and, still in my PJ's,I was too embarrassed to mention that my lunch (crackers, coleslaw and mango chutney) was already half way through it's journey to my large intestine. I told her I didn't feel well and we both seemed happy with that.

As for gazebos, I have discovered that when you are a market trader on a windy day, often no gazebo is better than one gazebo. 
It seems to act as a wind tunnel and all sorts of shenanigans occur when the wind whips right up your canopy!
  Told You!

I very nearly needed my market traders liability insurance and I'd only had it 6 days. Most of Saturday's trading was spent concealing the carcass of a substandard Azda gazebo Great- Escape style, down trouser legs and the like, sliding 3 foot poles out from the hemline like Mary Poppins and into various bins; this after a furtive glance around, shielded by my kids who had been instructed to look nonchalant.I think the prop fags and cans of cider helped.
When I got home, I ordered a new pop up 'zebo from eBay and surprise, surprise, it had 2 rips in it, and so they are sending a new canopy. This means I can try to fashion the other one into a side panel of sorts rather than using the shower curtain idea the WHOLE way round (though I think a gazebo with ducks on is a nifty idea and see-through enough to eye up any talent on the other side. I can glance across the beaks coquettishly 

Next time- Postcard from a Meditation weekend. Bohemian or what?!

Pammy does the splits!

... in her dreams.
I feel very nearly 100% sure that I have never successfully 'splitted', not even during the bendy years. I used to be able to bite my toe nails and I find myself today not so much disgusted at my youthful habits as a bit pissed off that I can barely touch my toes without the aid of someone on work experience.
I've been watching 'Britain's Got Talent  (it hasn't!) and that must be what set me off on this train of thought.

First up there was a magical duo who did a bit of an underwater escape act and whilst it all went swimmingly,one couldn't help but notice that they looked as surprised as the rest of us that at least one of them hadn't drowned on national TV. 

Luckily, our favourite deranged 'tickler of the ivories' got through to the next round with her very special brand of 'Classic Pop Songs done on the Organ after Several Creme-de-Menthes.'  She somehow managed to make the Beatles, Bontempi-Cool!. She went way past rock and roll and landed squarely in the category of surprise that would house 'David Beckam wins Clapham Dominoes League'.

I honestly think that we all voted for her because she is a happy woman. Jean is, at 60, as excitable as a child. She wears unsuitable sparkly tops, waves, giggles and throws her head back in joy whilst she's playing. It's irresistible and infectious.We British are gob-smacked that one of our own has the ability to find joy in tiny spaces- and you can tell that Jean is a master at it. 'Britain's Got A Bit Damp' could have summed up our collective state of mind thus far. But no longer, not now that we have an  glow-in-the-dark organ grinder and monkey, rolled into one.
John Shuttleworth      will have been green with envy and Ken will be round to Jean's like a rat up a drain pipe. (I find John oddly attractive)
  Interestingly, this photo was also in Google Images under 'John Shuttleworth'. Mind boggles!

I think that The Royal Variety Performance, really should have a bit of OOmph! about it.
Jean's full of OOmph!
Other things that might appear on  the oomphing bill  are: Javier Bardem stripping  (taken as read); Camilla Parker Bowles doing The Macarena and Snoop Dogg demonstrating the art of spliff- rolling using William and Kate commemorative Rizlas whilst rapping 'I've Got a  Luvverly Bunch of Coconuts'           '

I'd appreciate your ideas for an oomphed up Royal Variety. Chuck 'em in the comments box below please. If it isn't there just click on the word comments and off you go!

xx                          Part of The Friday Funny