I had a random phone call asking if I would deliver and collect envelopes for a charity collection. As it was a one-off, I agreed without thinking it through.

Had I done so I probably would have refused, but sent a donation myself, instead.

Delivering and collecting envelopes is worse than tin rattling outside supermarkets. I have never done this but rarely put money in when others do it because I object to being pressurised. I might change my mind now. At least there they are doing it on neutral territory.

Posting an envelope through someones door and then doing a follow up call is far more pushy than rattling a tin on the high street, and I had to nerve myself for each knock, literally and metaphorically!

Most people had shoved the envelope on the side to deal with at some point.  So they had to scrabble around for money to put in it,  or look a skinflint by returning an empty envelope.

My admiration of the person who did return it empty and said no thank you, was tempered with thoughts of ‘mean git.’

I’ve dried washing on radiators, clothes horses in front of gas and log fires, strung up on a line in the kitchen or bathroom, in driers at the launderette, and in one I owned when I had a larger kitchen.

Hanging them out on a washing line in town makes them smell of petrol or diesel; they are more likely to be cleaner and fresher if dried and freshened indoors.

The best way to dry clothes is hanging them on a washing line to blow in the wind, provided you live in the country or the sea where the scents of flowers, herbs and grass, or the salty sea can waft through them, making them smell sweeter than any fabric conditioner.

Nobody fancies me anyway so what’s the point.

I don’t currently fancy anybody so what’s the point.

If somebody did fancy me then they would be fancying me as I am, with the lumpy bits.

If I fancied somebody and they didn’t respond, if it was because of my weight, they are shallow and it would never work; and if it wasn’t then dieting wouldn’t make a difference.

Skinny women can look old and haggard.

A bit of weight in the winter acts as insulation and saves on heating bills.

My kids like me cuddly.

I can’t be assed.

Impromptu face paint for a clown smile

To leave a message on glass or mirror

Rouge

Feigning an allergy or the start of an infectious llness such as measles

To create a target for archery or an impromptu dartboard

Red shoe polish

Writing a giant birthday message on a sheet

Tinting white candles

I can understand that schools need to teach this, but self conscious children are unlikely to ask questions unless it is of the showing off and getting the class to giggle variety, and can come away with some confused ideas.

When I was told about the birds and the bees at school I completely missed the point and came away with the idea that as boys called girls birds, we should call them bees.

‘Use a condom, it will protect you’ got mixed up in Timmy’s head with Harry Potter type films so he was amazed in sex education lessons to learn what a condom was really for. ‘I thought it was a magic shield or something,’ he said. Still, before the lesson, a girl at his school thought ‘wear a condom’ meant women wore them on their boobs.

Listening to Timmy and his friends giggling about it later, it was apparent that the lesson had not completely sunk in.

‘So if you touch your willy to a girl’s you-know-what and shoot the seed at it, why do you need a condom when you can just not shoot her till you both want a baby?’

‘In case they accidentally touch, like in swimming pool or when they are sleeping in bed and their pyjamas accidentally slip down, stupid! ‘

A good case for sex education but we can’t be certain what image a child will come away with !

We had eggy bread this morning, for the first time in ages, and remembered how delicious they were. For those who have never tried them they are slices of bread, soaked in beaten egg and shallow fried (just a touch of olive or sunflower oil.) A smear of tomato sauce completes the recipe.

An old war recipe book has recipes where powdered egg has to be used instead of fresh eggs which were in short supply. It got me thinking about the amount of eggs we use. Omelettes for an easy tea, scrambled for breakfast, poached, fried egg sandwiches, souffle, cakes; it would be very hard to do without them. Dealing with powdered egg must have been an absolute pain.

My mum gave me an old cookery book published by the egg marketing board in 1969 with recipes for eggs. The introduction begins ‘What is an Egg?’ An egg is an ellipsoid which is, funnily enough, something that is egg-shaped. Starting from this basic fact…..’ The book includes everything from how to boil an egg to 158 recipes including icings, sauces, curried eggs and quiches.

An acorn also an ellipsoid and contains the oak tree, the creatures which will live in its brances and even the families who will enjoy the shade while the egg contains a huge variety of sweet and savoury meals and the associated parties, weddings and funerals.

Even veggies (though not vegans) eat eggs and more and more people are choosing organic free range rather than battery eggs, reaping their rewards in the taste.

Following on from 2nd Feb, bras made me think of boobs and what a huge subject they are. It’s not just the palava of measuring up to get one that fits properly and they way they grow whenever weight is added, so that many women with really big boobs are chubby, but then their boobs are saggy and have to be bundled into giant hammock like bras, or scaffolding in white, beige or black and serviceable rather than pretty, just to ensure that their self esteem plummets along with their boobs.

To breast feed or not to breast feed is a minefield of guilt for those that really don’t like the idea, can’t get their baby to get to grips with it, or find it just doesn’t work. New mums obviously want to do the best for their baby so if their choice is not to, then that is the best for both the baby and mum, whatever the experts say. Heaping piles of guilt on the head of a new mum so that her confidence in her new mothering role is shaken, has got to be a lot worse than her choice not to breast feed.

The media, stars and men in general make such a hoo-ha about them that girls as young as fifteen are asking for boob jobs to make them feel attractive. Strange that In the same world women with breast cancer have to suffer the trauma of a masectomy and somehow regain their self confidence in the midst of all this bosom worship.

We all need comfort food to get through each and every cold grey January day.

The January sales are on and whatever you buy in the wrong size, hoping to slim into it, will not be there in a month or so when you fail and want to exchange for your normal size.

Everyone else is just as fat as you are so who cares?

The remaining Christmas chocolates!


There is no immediate incentive. The weather’s so cold you are covered in clothes layers anyway, and swimming costumes and hot sunny holidays seem a lifetime away

Nobody wants to meet in a draughty community hall to get weighed. In fact, it’s too near the Christmas feasts, to face being weighed at all.

If you do manage to lose weight the photos won’t show it because you’ll still be bundled up in winter wear.

If you diet this early, will you keep the weight off until summer?

What holiday food I am (posted here) probably depends on my mood. At the moment I’ve got after Christmas bulges in places that shouldn’t bulge so I feel like a Christmas pudding before its lit. I’m hoping that I’ll flame into action and work all the extra weight off. Thinking of January stretching out before me with it’s bills and hard grey days makes me feel like a lump of grey sage and onion stuffing, overcooked and inedible. However today, the snow cheered me up so I felt cheerful, though still too round (gingerbread lady.)

A late card arrives from somebody that you forgot to send one to.

You buy new shoes in the sales and take them back because they are too tight or uncomfortable.

You have a huge row with your partner.

Your meals consist of turkey sandwiches, turkey risotto, turkey pie, turkey pasta and turkey soup.

All your hangovers merge into one.

Somebody confides in you when they have had one too many, and puts you in some kind of moral dilemma.

You have to change an item of clothing which is too small.

The outfit you planned to wear at the New Year party is too tight.

Newspapers regurgitate the diet plan they use every year, dressing it in a ‘new diet’ disguise.

You buy a paper or magazine purely on the strength of the exciting New Year horoscopes featured on the front cover.

You either get no invitations and feel like Billy No-mates; or two or three so you have the dilemma of which one to go to, (or which to go to last, should you go to them all) to see the New Year in.

You watch cheesy television films that you would normally never watch, and actually enjoy them.