moshi love – sort of wrong?

Weird, I think, for an adult. But I defy you (or most of you) not to be tickled by this.

My new favourite past-time. It’s lovely and will get even lovelier when I learn how to work it… How can a three-year-old be higher up the monster list and have more rox than me?

on india

Every way I turn I see resourcefulness

So little thrown away, value in simple waste

How much we could learn from looking eastwards

We walk blind in monied waste.

———-

Sorry the above is such cheesy drivel. I just had the urge to get it out of my system.

just another ride home

A lady walks into a shop.

Me.

I head to the sleekly lit counter and go about my business – searching for a non-chemical mascara if you must know – and then, suddenly, something fluffy plunges fuzzily onto the faux wood floor. It makes that bones and fur in a heap noise that only a falling dog (or mammal?) can make. The dropper, made up to the nines as only a chihuahua owner can be, goes overdrive into guilty mwahmwahmwah mood. The little pooch – diamante jerkin and all – seems fine to me and, clocking the shop assistant’s raised eyebrow, I accidentally let a stifled giggle slip out.

They didn’t sell what I was after.

I then walk in a daze down the clogged tube steps and escalators and am so entranced by the enthusiastically gay swaggering bottom before me – not to mention the manicured aroma and elegant, floating handbag arm – that I miss my tube.

This does, however, give me the chance to witness one of the most spectacular falls I have seen on the TfL network. (Almost as impressive as the two drunken, middle-aged ladiez who on their way home to Essex caught a heel and dived hand-in-hand in a squealing mess along the central floor of Liverpool Street Station to rapturous applause.) A large green-jacketed man goes flying, utterly losing it in a belly down whooosh along the centre of the carriage as the tube staggeringly whirrs out of the station. I imagine his eyes at scuffed shoes level.

Arms go to reach him as my own hand flies to my impressed, laughing mouth.

————–

And a little pic from my trip to India last month… Spot the monkey.

pinch punch

I’ve just had a jog. I pulled on leggings, odd socks, 11-year-old trainers and a fleece and went running through the dark London evening.

This, surely, is what growing up feels like?

That, and buying birthday cards to keep for future use rather than relying on last minute petrol station atrocities.