Valley of the Trolley Dollies

Long time, no speak…

The parents - Mr and Mrs Valley-Boy late of Dublin, Ireland - arrived on Wednesday Night. Then things got crazy…

Thursday, whilst D and I were at work, the windows on the ground floor were ripped out (by specialist fitters; Mother VB is keen on home improvements, and it’s been said she doesn’t know her own strength, but even she would have ahd trouble with the French Doors to the garden) and replaced with all new upvc double glazing which will (if the stories and the salesman are to be believed) reduce our energy costs, soundproof much of the house, and increase the value of the property, whilst reducing the maintenance costs (no wood to rot or need paining).

Friday, I was off on vacation. My vacation consisted of hanging around the house with Mam and Dad whilst the remaining (upper story) windows were removed and replaced. The place feels warmer and quieter already, and the windows look loooovely!

Friday night was a trip to Brighton to see Elaine Paige doing a concert of songs from the musicals. A good show, with a couple of unusual song choices (I still prefer Judy Kuhn doing ‘Someone else’s story’ from Chess - one of my all-time-fave ABBA records that never were), and some nice patter, to a largely anaesthetised/comatose audience.

One bit that made me go “Ha!” Was the lead in to a selection of songs from Evita. “I’d Like to think that I got the part of Eva Peron because I was blonde. Or Glamorous. Or, like her, a great communicator. But I fear it’s more likely that I got the part because I’m five-foot two and could fit into the costumes”.

So the rumoured long-runningaffair with Tim Rice are, like Brigadoon, simply Scotch Mist?

There you go, VB. Cynical, bleak, negative to the end…

Yesterday, another day off work, spent making Christmas Cakes. The Traditional VB Family Cakes, made, since time immemorial, by my Motehr (Mrs Valley-Boy late of Dublin, Ireland) to a recipe that has never - never - been written down.

“I need to know how to make these,” I pleaded.

“What? So when I’m dead the tradition can continue?” She asked.

“Well, yes, I suppose that’s a good reason, ” I said, “But I was really thinking so that, when Alzheimers kicks in, we won’t end up arguing over whether it’s 6 eggs or 16. But death’s a good reason too.”

My family - as fluffy, positive and light as a cloude filled meringue.

There’s a full blog post or two on the cake, and it will be coming shortly.

Meantime, back to work. A suggested post has been submitted:
Today’s free-writing theme

discuss the differences between self-centered, self-loving and selfish.
My immediately flippant answer was ]

“Writers and artists: Self-Centred.
Compulsive masturbators: Self-Loving.
Fishmongers: Selfish.

I mask my pain with rather ineffective puns.

That last sentence places me squarely in the first category, with a trickling into the second. I’ve never sold prawns, though I’ve tried to give away my cockles once or twice… ”
A more considered response my be forthcoming.

For now, let’s all close our eyes and imagine a nutmeggy warmth, a soft candle glow, and the sound of Celine Dion battling with Sarah Mc Lachlan’s wonderfully morose Christmas album filling us with the season’s moods.

Anon, beyotches….

This entry was posted on Tuesday, November 21st, 2006 at 1:44 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.