Deodorant – 72 hrs malarkey

Ok, what’s with this needing deodorant/anti-perspirant that lasts for 72 hours? What happened to washing yourself every day? I know, I know, a bit random, but seriously, I stood at my local Waitrose – as you do on any given hour after work – thinking to myself, right, I need a stick of deo, where’s my favourite brand? I hasten to add there are other supermarkets that sell the same product.

Not once did I think, ooooohhhhh, let me seek out a stick that means I can save water and be kind to the world and, hooray not wash for 3 days. Because as is common knowledge there is nothing better than not washing your body, and staying stinky for as long as possible.

I don’t get it. I wonder what Dove deodorant product developers had in mind and, or, how it came about. Was it over a bar snack? Or humble toasty cheese and a cuppa, one bright and shiny morning, when the lightbulb literally blew up as the concept of flogging a product that lasts 72 hours came up? And more so, did said developers chuckle over a bag of Maltesers, knowing that despite the gigantic time frame between usage, every user on the planet would be washing it off daily anyway?

Plus, they already had a version that lasts 48hrs, and I swear there was a 24hr one too.

Alright, let me not be so cynical. There obviously must be a group of people who really need these. Ummm . . . hmmm . . . let me think about that for a minute longer . . . yep, think I need another minute . . . nope, still not coming up with any ideas . . .

Half an hour later, egg and chips washed down with a glass of wine, still not getting it.

Dove, if you’re around, let me know what’s going on here, please

Stone Cold Steve Austin and a tin of polish

Wednesday lunchtime this week, finding myself @ day 3 of:

((Lockdown + Holiday)+(Wet + Ice)/Staycation) = BOREDOM, hubster was about to leave for work, the conversation went like this:

Me, “Hubster, so so glad we managed to find navy blue shoe polish today.”

Hubster, “So am I – “

Me, I cut him short, words on the tip of his tongue. I knew exactly what he was about to say. It was imperative to stop him. My afternoon, indeed my life depended on silencing the man. “Please,” I said, gripping his arm, prepared to beg if need be. Knees prepped to bend. “Please, please don’t clean my boots for me, that’s the only thing I have to look forward to this afternoon.”

Flipping heck, did I ever think the day would arrive when my entire happiness would be determined by a humble task of polishing boots with a precious tin of polish! Never.

And did I ever anticipate the pleasure of using a round tin of polish against the faster, simpler liquid form. Never.

Surprisingly satisfying job completed – wonderful that took about 10 minutes of the afternoon. Rest of the day, what to do, what to do? Ah yes, watch Broken Skull Challenge with @steveaustinBSR – holy cow, this is one epic challenge. Brutal yet intense. Surprised I love this? You shouldn’t be. Stone Cold Steve Austin, a huge WINNER in my eyes. Really wish I had a fraction of the competitors strength and endurance, my current fitness level sits at a brisk 30 minute walk and some regular Yoga, not exactly impressive.

Jeepers, it’s been a while since last blogging, so many changes to WordPress, managed to add blocks, strange images, far too many categories without even realising it, and then frantic, sweat inducing 10 minutes to find ways of removing them all.

Note to self: Get a grip and blog more often

2 weeks of doing . . .

So here I am, almost 2 weeks into my holiday, in fact, this coming Monday it’s all about back to work, and what has been achieved?

Not an awful lot.

My intentions were good mind. Sew and write. Or write and sew. Either way, come today, expectations had been high. Half a novel at least, even if it’s a shitty first draft. Loads of sewing, crafty and clothes – definitely not cushions.

Tally up as of this morning:

Words written – 0

Stitches stitched – 0

Immediate response to this? Get the flipping sewing machines out and at some point hit the blog at least once before Monday

Result:

Sewing – 2 face masks – different styles. Both steam my glasses up! What the blazes? How do you get by this little snag? I also feel a little like Darth Vadar, deep breathing and muffled speech.

Writing – this blog

Evidence:

Here are my masks, made from scraps, courtesy Youtube tutorials

 

Hang on a minute – Wispa eating

Photo by Wendy Wei on Pexels.com

Feeling a little bit along the lines of needing to run around the park, hands flying, mouth wide, guttural sounds frightening the neighbourhood – cabin fever hit big – I managed to compose myself for a very short while before the call of the Wispa chocolate bar hit me.

Wispa, my new favourite. This past Easter the Hubster and I had a DE-LI-CIOUS Wispa Easter Egg. Man, did we enjoy it. The egg itself was neither here nor there, the bars themselves were the winners.

Back to last night then. There was a brief face-off while contemplating the sensible option of eating only half the bar.  The internal argument being by eating half tonight, then the calories will be half the bar, and tomorrow evening the rest could be consumed, therefore keeping my calorie controlled daily intake in check – yeah right on that thought, what’s a calorie-controlled daily intake?

Or

I could eat the entire bar last night and not have any chocolate today. Perfect. 2 days of chocolate in one go. Surely that works?

What did I do?

Gif courtesy of here: SMILE

Easy, shoved the whole darn bar down my gullet.

What happens tonight when the Hubster hovers more chocolate within my reach?

I’m pretty sure that question is easily answered. After some well thought out logic that confirms, tonight, I will be eating next Thursday’s chocolate, the Wispa wrapper will be off.

Happy Saturday

 

 

 

 

 

15 mins – had a thought

Driving to work this morning, navigating my way around more roundabouts than should be legally built in one city, I had a thought.

My mood lifted, my grin grew.

Photo by Emily Hopper on Pexels.com

Yes. Finally. Something to blog about. Something fun. Indeed, the kick up the backside needed to sit me at the keyboard again. Quickly the entire blog was mapped out in my mind. A little humour here, a little nonsense there, a little sharing of me. Perfect in every way. What was that? Did you mention modesty?

Several roundabouts later and quickly heading into the building, my plan was to ignore my normal daily tasks and, cheekily, whack out an email to myself, of said blog, for copy and paste and publish later on. Who would question my furious taping at the keyboard? Not a sausage.

Photo by Mateusz Dach on Pexels.com

What could go wrong?

Palm to forehead. I bloody well forgot it all. No hints, no a-ha moments. Nothing,

Note to self: Numpty!

 

 

Purpose of this blog. No purpose. Only a place to write for 15 minutes. Thank you so much for dopping by

15 mins @Waitrose with a Stormtrooper and a Gold Medal

Well who the heck would have thought it.

thank you, image borrowed from HERE

Lockdown Shopping @Waitrose. There I was, standing in the (very, very, orderly) queue. 2 meters apart. Rather fetching shopping bags swinging sweetly from the trolley hook. No noise, no frustrations.  All fully committed to staving Covid-19, and rightly so.

Then it struck me. The nearer I got to the front of the queue, the more my heart began to race. This moment would be BIG.

And then, reaching and crossing the threshold it felt as if I’d won an Olympic Gold Medal. All that waiting, all that willing, all that orderly queuing, it had all paid off in the end. I truly knew how Usain Bolt must have felt as he belted towards and finally crossed that mystical finish line. I was in, I was shopping.

And then, who would have thought it, at every turn into orderly aisles there were folk in masks, all looking as if they were Stromtrooppers on a day off, only they’d forgotten to remove all the components of their helmets

thank you, image borrowed from: HERE

Made me smile. Something that’s important when life is as it is right now. No flippancy, no mocking, just a smile that helps me get through the tough days

Thank you NHS, you are the BEST EVER

 

 

 

15 minutes with Upstart Crow and a large head

Really thrilled to have had tickets for a show up the West End last weekend. Weather was awful – Storm Dennis had arrived – and undaunted, yet well wrapped in rain kit, thick gloves and a rather pretty scarf, we caught a fast train and before we could say Shakespeare and all that is jolly, we were in London.

Being early we headed to Trafalgar Square and mooched around the National Gallery where inspiration was high and my purse was lightened through purchasing some paints, brushes and painting book in the lovely shop. I add at this point they are still in the bag. My other purchase was a teeny-tiny puzzle. 10cmx15cm, of Van Gogh’s Wheatfield – that’s a whole other blog along the lines of 150 pieces of hair-pulling.

Next stop was the National Portrait Gallery which just blew my mind – another blog.

Back to our show, Upstart Crow. Love the TV series with David Mitchell and Gemma Whelan, and as soon as the show was announced I pounced and purchased tickets.

If you’ve not seen the show or heard about it, it’s written by Ben Elton and is about Shakespeare and his family and friends, moving between Stratford-Upon-Avon and London. At this point of his life, Mr S is successful and writing plays, but often enough it’s the people around him providing the best lines or titles of plays etc. as they go about day to day living. Cleverly the dialogue, for show and TV series, incorporates modern-day problems, from love, to transport, to politics, to gender-equality using Olde Worlde scenarios.  Just brilliant.

So, what’s with the big head then? Well, in the theatre a very nice gentleman sat in front of me, who I swear is taller than Nelson’s column because all I could see of the play was the occasional actor as they moved beyond the heads perimeter. I am not head shaming anybody, or tall shaming anybody, it’s just what it is, and was unfortunate for me.

This little sketch might give you an idea of what I saw of the show – as well as an idea of how badly I draw and would explain why the paints and brushes are still in the bag.

Photo – all mine, copyright exists, but why anybody would want to use this image is beyond me

 

 

Happiness

It may be a chilly old day, but I can feel Spring is on its way

Time to put on Happy Pants and throw arms in the air

Photo by Andre Furtado on Pexels.com

15 minutes – hovering above the loo seat

Photo credit: HERE Piqsels

Cutting straight to it, there is nothing that makes my skin recoil more than sitting on a wet toilet seat, at work! Or anywhere for that matter. Oh man, just gross. And exactly what happened to me this past week. Ideally not something to share, but there you go, it’s been shared.

Having wiped and gagged and vacated the cubicle, I was immediately taken back to being probably no more than a toddler or just older. Out with my Nan shopping or something, desperate for the loo – on that note, as this seems to be all about sharing, my bladder has always been about the size of a postage stamp with the loo being a close friend. So, out with my Nan, me needing a wee-stop, into the public loo we went and having surveyed the facilities and deeming them OK to use, Nan instructed me to not sit down, but rather hover over the seat.

Really! How on earth does one hover over the toilet? Levitate? Throw my legs up and have Nan hold me under the armpits while hoping of all hope the toilet is under me? However it was or happened, I don’t recall wet feet or hem of dress so one can only assume it was a successful visit.

Actually, the more I think about stupidy and the loo, I can also remember trying to hover over the loo, only as a much older person – likely a teenager. At least at that stage, there was no need for somebody to hold me under the arms to navigate position.  No, on those occasions – because as established I could never wait until reaching home – the routine was to hoick up clothing and attempt a balancing act that required pretty darn good core strength while keeping skin from the seat.

I think that’s enough about the loo for today, and indeed forever

 

 

 

15 minutes in the airport lounge

Photo by Daria Shevtsova on Pexels.com

Table Mountain

So, there I was, Cape Town airport lounge. Glass of bubbles emptied. Cranberries and cheese and a tiny brownie consumed. Now to wait. What to do?

TV has cricket on. BORING 101. Wondering how to switch to the WWE channel without being noticed. Quick check out of the immediate surroundings and no remote to be seen. Damn it. Now I can’t infuriate my fellow travellers with some overacting, angry faces, ripped bodies and terrible storylines, and a little bit of wrestling every now and again. Heavy sigh.

Photo by Mike González on Pexels.com

Instead, I find myself interested in fellow travellers. To my left and slightly behind there are a group of young people – probs about 6. Am I awful for hoping they aren’t on my flight? Nothing against them personally, only they are very happy and chatty when they could do with putting a sock in it – when sleep is calling that is.

Just behind them is a gent who filled his plate with grub, a bit like a squirrel prepping for winter. To the right is a slightly older couple, both plugged into their phones, an array of empty glasses close by.

Directly in front of me, a young gent is almost horizontal on his chair. To be fair he is quite tall, legs like an octopus, feet as large as an elephant. The chair is far too small for him, he needs a lounger. He too is plugged into a phone. He had a friend who has gone awol.

To my left, there is a gent clearly in the process of immigrating from South Africa. His phone is attached to his ear and his mouth is working ninety to the dozen trying to explain how he needs to sell his house and needs his original matric certificate and how he still thinks SA is for retirement, but can still go 50-50 in a property deal in SA if need be. He also shared a bit about somebody who is welcome to visit but not with somebody else. Now he is on ex-pat tax. Sell and invest apparently is the way to go. He is a thirsty chap, pouring tumblers of something down his gullet. Not surprising with all the chatter he is doing. For the love of all chatter, now he is advising on doing AirBnB. I think I need to check out what he is drinking. Oh no, he tells me, err sorry his caller, he is a family with no cousins – pass me a tissue I’m about to weep and sob my way onto my flight.

Flipping heck waiting for a flight is boring.  Not even people-watching is making it enjoyable. One thing that is evidently clear is the mobile phone/Cellphone has taken over life.

Mini rant – put the phone down and pick up a book. Because quite frankly I don’t give a flying hoot about your personal life. Keep it to yourself. Let’s go back to the old landline.

What do you do while waiting for a flight?

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com